Change of Plans
by usa123
Summary: Johnny is taken hostage during a bank robbery.
1. Chapter 1

"Next!" the lone bank teller warbled, raising one shaking hand to motion the next customer forward.

A middle-aged woman ever so slowly hobbled to the counter, hooked her cane on the protruding edge and upended her purse, sending coins spilling in every direction. Johnny Storm groaned along with every other person waiting in line and buried his head into his hands. He saw a pink sneaker dance into his field of vision and looked up to see the young girl in front of him happily chasing down the few coins that had rolled off the counter.

"I'd like to deposit these," the elderly woman announced cheerily as she pushed the mound of coins towards the even older bank teller.

Scowling, the Torch counted the people ahead of him in line before glancing up at the large faced clock that had been ticking ominously in the background, alerting him to the fact that he was wasting precious time standing in this never-ending line, all for his brother-in-law.

_Thirty minutes earlier…_

_Johnny Storm walked into Reed Richard's lab ten minutes after receiving a text message from the scientist marked 'urgent'. To be fair, if it really had been urgent, someone (usually Sue) would have hunted him down. Therefore, it was one of those things Reed categorized as urgent, but was really of normal priority for everyone else._

"_What's up?" he asked casually, subconsciously grimacing as he saw Reed stretched all over the laboratory floor._

_There was a slipping noise and Richards retracted himself so his head was centered in front of Johnny. "I need you to do me a favor," he began._

"_Nooooo," the Human Torch stepped backwards, raising his hands to his shoulders. "Nuh-huh. Nothing good has ever followed those words."_

"_Please," Reed begged, one arm flying past Johnny as it grabbed a beaker from its storage unit across the room. "Just this once?"_

"_I'm not going to take your check to the bank, Reed," Johnny replied, having heard him beg Sue earlier in the day to do the same favor. "The lines are long, the people are sooo unattractive and, have I mentioned the lines? Plus, there's people crying when they can't withdraw money or their third mortgage is denied and I really am not good with sobbing women—not the slightest," he shuddered as he recalled the time he had walked in on Sue and her girlfriends in the middle of a chick flick marathon._

"_I'm quite literally tied up," Reed winced, struggling to undo a knot in his arms. "Sue's out shopping and Ben and Alicia are on a couple's vacation__—_"

"_No." Johnny was completely immune to the forlorn look in the scientist's eyes._

"_If you don't take the check today, we will have no power for the entire weekend…" Reed grinned when he saw the petrified look on Johnny's face, knowing the Torch was realizing exactly what having no power would entail. "That means no video games, no ESPN, no nothing, for three. Whole. Days."_

"_Stop!" Johnny waved his arms furiously in front of Reed's face. "I'll do it! I'll take your stupid check to the bank!"_

_As he was speaking, an idea came to him and he grinned evilly. "On one condition: next mission, I get to drive the Fantasticar while Wide Load sits in the back. No buts!" he declared as he saw Reed open his mouth in protest. "If we have no power, you can't do your sciency stuff either. We both lose."_

"_Fine," Reed bitterly agreed. "Just please go take the check," he implored as Johnny headed toward the door. "Before five. The branch on 4__th__ is expecting you."_

_The Torch spun around, his blue eyes narrowing __in__ suspicion. "Are they now?"_

"_Just think about how you'll survive the weekend without any power," Reed added quickly, throwing the small envelope at Johnny and returning himself to a chair on the other side of the room._

_Johnny easily caught the envelope, all the while scowling at his brother-in-law. "I'm goin', I'm goin'," he shouted over his shoulder as he grabbed the keys to his bike off the entryway table and headed down for the garage._

"_It wouldn't kill you to invest in paperless billing—saving the planet one tree at a time and all that," he called as he slammed the door to their unit._

Now, Johnny watched the second hand travel completely around the clock's surface while the teller separated the coins into piles. There was still half an hour before closing, but, at the rate the elderly employee was moving, it didn't look like he would reach Johnny before 5:00.

And that meant no power for Reed's floor.

Which meant he couldn't watch the X Games...or do anything else remotely fun for the next three days.

"C'mon," he silently urged the teller who was slowly, painstakingly counting every coin.

He was able to stomach it for another minute or so before his patience evaporated. "Ma'am, how much do you think that is?" he asked loudly, pointing to the full pile of coins.

The woman turned around, her smile wide. "I don't know. Nearly forty dollars at my last count," she said.

Johnny dug out his wallet and withdrew two twenties. "Forget about the change and deposit this so the rest of us can be helped tonight."

"Why thank you, sir," the woman ripped the bills out of his hand.

"Anytime," he mumbled.

Five more agonizing minutes ticked by and the elderly man was still helping the next customer in line. "Would it be that difficult to get another teller out here?" Johnny questioned in exasperation, raising his voice in order to be heard in the bank of offices to his right.

"She went home ill, sir," the man said, without looking up from the current guest's deposit slip. He reached over the counter and pointed with the tip of his pen at a blank line. "You didn't initial here."

Johnny nearly died right then and there.

Twenty minutes later, the teller was finishing turning away a young girl who wanted to open an account with the $20 her grandmother had given her as a birthday present.

Before the girl had even stepped away from the counter, Johnny dashed forward, waving the check wildly. He squeaked to a stop at the terminal and practically shoved the check in the teller's face. "I need to deposit this into Reed Richard's account."

The elderly gentleman squinted at him. "And you are?"

"His assistant," Johnny lied with a slight grimace, hoping that would expedite the process. He handed over another slip of paper. "Here's the account number. It's already endorsed."

_Now hurry_, he silently begged.

The teller took the check with trembling fingers. "From the government, I see. Your boss must be a big shot."

"You could say that. Just please deposit his check. Trust me: he cannot survive the weekend without power," Johnny replied curtly.

There was a harsh clanging behind him, but the Torch didn't turn around, focusing all his energy on the ancient teller, trying to psychically speed up the deposit process.

He did, however, turn around at the ratcheting of a pump-action shotgun. His core temperature began to rise as he saw one man standing in the tiled foyer, wearing a black ski mask, said shotgun cradled comfortably in his hands.

One woman screamed and the people in line scattered, running with all their strength for the door, which they quickly discovered had been chained closed.

There were two more clicks and the same number of men stepped out from behind their leader, pointing their weapons at the fleeing hostages. The people shouted in surprise, trying to run the other way before more masked men cut them off. One of the armed men trained his gun on the young girl but a man in a vintage jacket stepped in front of her, raising his hands in surrender.

While the rest of the bank's occupants were panicking, Johnny was running through the possible scenarios in his mind. He could probably hit two or three weapons with fireballs before the other men noticed, but then, he was out of luck: he would have exposed himself as the Human Torch and mostly likely would end up with a gunshot wound, which wouldn't be beneficial to getting all these people out of there alive.

Though Ben always rode him about being foolish and taking too many risks, there was a reason he had qualified for NASA in the first place. Johnny was smart enough to realize that there were too many armed men for him to take on by himself. Anything he tried now wouldn't help. He would have to bide his time and wait for a better opportunity.

Seconds later, the man at the center of the room raised his gun into the air, silently demanding everyone's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his piercing green eyes deadly serious. "This is a hold-up."

* * *

**I started this story back in 2011 and forgot it even existed until a few months ago. It has since been completed so I will be posting chapters every few days, if real life allows.**

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the wonderful reviews!**

* * *

"I need everyone to slide their cell phones over here," the man Johnny assumed to be the leader motioned with his gun to a spot close to the front door. "Then, lie down on the floor with their hands behind their heads."

No one moved: everyone was still in shock at the sight of the masked men bearing guns.

The leader fired a round into the ceiling. "NOW!" he roared.

There was much screaming and crying as everyone surrendered their phones and collapsed to the floor, hands interlaced behind their heads. Johnny hesitated for a split second, wondering if this was an opportune moment to act now that the hostages were out of the way. One of the nearby men had other plans though; he grabbed Johnny's shoulder and stomped on the back of his knee, harshly helping Storm to the floor.

"I was going," the Torch spat, interlacing his fingers behind his head as his knee began to throb. His breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat as he felt a cool metal circle press against his cheek.

"Be careful, kid," the masked man warned. "We don't wanna hurt anybody, but we will if we have to."

As the man pulled the gun away from his face, Johnny inhaled deeply, dropping his head against the tiled floor.

Another gunshot sounded from the back of the bank and Johnny narrowly resisted the urge to jump to his feet and figure out what had happened, especially since there was still a weapon being trained on him. He craned his neck and saw one armed man herding three bank employees into the main room. The gunman pointed to the ground with his weapon and the frightened employees obediently collapsed onto the tile.

"You all right?" the gunman shouted over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the hostages.

"That bastard shot me!" another man cursed. He stepped into the hallway, dragging a man wearing a royal blue uniform behind him with both hands. Blood was streaming from a deep wound over the temple of the uniformed man and he was making no motions to resist his captor. Once they were in the foyer, the gunman relinquished his hold on the unconscious man, who dropped limply to the ground. As he did so, his jacket fell open, revealing a badge clipped to his belt.

_The security guard_, Johnny realized. If the man regained consciousness, the two of them might be able to put together a decent plan. Right now though, there were too many variables, too many unknowns. He was just going to have to wait a little bit longer before he made his move.

"You all right?" one of the men from across the room asked.

"The vest caught it," he returned, rubbing his ribs and grimacing.

For the first time, Johnny noticed all five gunmen were wearing bulletproof vests over black long-sleeved T-shirts and black pants. Each had a black ski mask covering his face and was wearing combat boots. From the slits in the masks, Johnny could see all the gunmen were Caucasian and basic anatomy told him they were all males. While he had never been seriously interested in weapons, preferring to spend more time around cars and motorcycles, he knew enough to figure out that all the visible weapons were pistol grip shotguns, though the one who had spoken first, the assumed leader, had a handgun strapped to his belt as well.

"Stop speaking!" the leader barked. The injured gunman scowled for a split second before taking a large step back, drawing his weapon and tilting his head at the man who had helped corral the hostages from the back room. The second man slid his shotgun over his shoulder so it hung diagonally across his back by the strap and swiftly pulled a bundle of plastic ties from his bag. He bent down, roughly grabbing a twenty-something man's wrists and zipping them together before moving on to the next hostage. On the other end of the room, another gunman was doing the same while the rest of the men aimed their weapons at the eleven people who were unfortunate enough to be in the bank while it was being robbed.

"Hey! Careful with the merchandise!" Johnny hissed as a thug yanked his arms behind his back, almost dislocating his shoulder in the process. The man only tugged harder, smacking his wrists together and zipping a plastic tie around them.

"That's too tight," he groaned, feeling the sharp plastic bite into his wrists, but the goon paid no attention, grabbing the next twist tie and moving along the row of hostages.

He heard a wavering cry on his right and tweaked his head to see the man roughly grabbing an elderly lady's wrists.

"Really?" Johnny spoke up, drawing the man's attention. "She's like eighty years old—no offense ma'am," he amended, shooting the woman an apologetic glance. "She's not going to do anything."

The woman didn't seem at all offended and looked quite relieved.

The henchman, on the other hand, was another story.

"I've had just about all I'm gonna take from you," he growled, stepping angrily towards Storm.

"Frank!" the leader yelled and the goon obediently glanced up.

"Whipped," Johnny smirked under his breath.

"Watch it!" the man stomped his foot into the ground directly next to Johnny's face and the Torch pulled back just in time to avoid eating rubber. Johnny glared up at the man, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the one called Frank staring curiously at his face.

"Wait a minute," the goon drawled slowly, his eyes locking onto Johnny's. "I know you."

_Shit._

"Guess I just have one of those faces," Johnny said hastily. "I get that a lot."

Frank shook his head. "No, that's not it."

Upon hearing this declaration, the leader motioned to one of his other lackeys, who scrambled to assume the leader's position at the entryway, and walked over to where Frank was standing. "What's going on?"

"I know him," Frank pointed a fat finger at Johnny's face. "I just don't know why."

"Holy shit," a scrawny guard breathed from his position a few feet away. He shuffled twice to his left and bent down to get a better view of Johnny's face. "You know who that is?"

Frank reached down and grabbed a handful of Johnny's hair. "No, who is it?" he asked as he yanked the Torch to his feet.

"I'd've stood up. All you had to do was ask!" Storm spat once he was upright, his scalp aching. He threw his weight left, directing his momentum into the man behind him. His shoulder connected with the soft flesh of Frank's throat and, as the man exhaled heavily, his grasp on Johnny's hair loosened enough for Johnny to slip free. The Torch whipped around, his body tensed for a fight, but froze when he felt the barrel of a weapon being jammed into his side by the skinny man who had recognized him.

"You can't honestly tell me he didn't deserve it," the younger Storm whined petulantly in the leader's direction.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the leader admonished, releasing his own weapon which dangled from the strap around his neck, before reaching out and placing his hand on the barrel of the shotgun jammed into Johnny's side, gently pushing it away. "That's no way to treat our guest."

His eyes shined through the narrow slit of his mask and Johnny instantly felt uncomfortable. He glanced around, reevaluating his escape options, all of which were worse than before.

"Linus, who is our friend?" the leader asked the beanpole.

"That's Johnny Storm, more popularly known as the Human Torch."

The leader's eyes widened and his eyebrows disappeared into the forehead of his mask. "Is he now?"

A hand brushed against his back pocket and Johnny spun around, enraged. "What the—" he trailed off as he saw his wallet in man's hand.

Linus flipped it open and pulled out the driver's license, holding it up to the light to check its authenticity. "He's the real deal," he announced, handing over the license to the leader.

"No, you see, he's just my doppelganger. It's my thing, if you know what I mean," he threw in a knowing wink in Linus' direction. "I'm not Jo—" his excuse was cut off by the grip of the shotgun that was driven into his kidney with great force. He doubled over, gasping for breath.

"Stop speaking," Frank commanded, towering over the panting Storm.

"Frank!" the leader shouted, pointing toward the other end of the bank. "Over there."

The disobedient robber sighed heavily and left, his eyes shooting daggers at Johnny the entire trip.

A hand grabbed his elbow and Johnny shrugged out of the grip, forcing himself upright unassisted.

"I do apologize for our overeager friend. He doesn't understand the meaning of a good business partnership."

The Torch tilted his head slightly as his entire body tensed. "Business partnership?"

"In due time," the leader smiled ferally. "But right now, I need proof of your identity." In a quick motion, the shotgun was back in his hands and aimed at Johnny's chest. The superhero heard the collective gasp from behind him and braced himself for almost certain impact, but the weapon continued on a horizontal trajectory, slowly panning over the entire room, until it came to rest with its barrel pointed directly at the elderly woman.

"Please do us the honor of 'flaming on' as you put it. Not full body, just one hand…or I will shoot the woman."

"Not until you promise you won't hurt her," Johnny immediately demanded.

But the leader wasn't interested in compromises. "Time is running out, Mr. Storm," he stated as he released the safety on his weapon.

"Okay, okay," the Torch turned slightly and focused, feeling his hand burst into flames. He continued to increase the heat and felt the plastic tie begin to melt around his wrists.

"That's enough," the leader decided, motioning threateningly towards the woman again.

Johnny's flames immediately dissipated, leaving the plastic tie still mostly intact.

"Well, this just got much more interesting," the leader lowered his weapon slightly and walked back over to Johnny.

Storm saw the shotgun butt headed for his face but wasn't able to move out of the way fast enough. The rough wood smashed into his cheekbone, sending his head whipping around. A warm liquid began trickling down his cheek as his knees buckled. He would have fallen, had Linus not grabbed his arm. Another man lowered his weapon and came over to grab Johnny's other shoulder. The Torch sagged between the two, barely holding onto consciousness.

"We have to keep him contained," he heard someone muttering. "This oughta do it."

He cracked open an eye to see one of the men bracing a bright red cylinder against his body. Johnny squinted and managed to recognize the cylinder as a fire extinguisher.

_Well, crap._

There was a muffled whooshing and a white wave crashed into Johnny with breathtaking force. The retardant foam quickly coated his entire front, forcing its way into his mouth, his nose, under his shirt. His heart raced as he found himself no longer able to bring air into his lungs. Under the pressure of the foam, he was powerless to change the situation, so he began bucking against the guards holding him, trying to get his head out of the direct spray.

Suddenly, the guards released him, and he collapsed to the tile, coughing and gagging. Through great effort, he managed to spit out most of the white gunk, though the grimy substance still lined his mouth. He had just taken one complete breath when a sharp blast of pressure hit him from behind, stealing the hard-earned air out of his lungs. The pressure, which he blearily recognized as the fire extinguisher spray again, traveled from his head to his feet, coating his backside in the foam as well.

Then the spray ceased and he bit back a groan of pain as his vision slowly righted itself…to reveal the barrel of the gun inches from his nose.

"Any heroics, Mr. Storm, and I shoot. We will take out as many of them as necessary," the leader stated bluntly, motioning with a swoop of his head to the hostages lying helplessly on the tiled floor. "They're just unknowns to me. Literally faces in a crowd."

"I gotcha…No heroics…" Johnny rasped, splaying his foam-covered hands behind his back in surrender.

"Good," the man raised his weapon and walked away as if nothing serious had happened. He beckoned to Linus. "You watch over him. He so much as twitches, shoot him."

The beanpole pointed his weapon at Johnny, looking much too eager to be given that assignment.

"Now that we've established that, which one of you is the bank manager?" the leader demanded once he had reached the foyer.

There was scuffling and harsh whispering, but a young woman, no more than thirty, eventually raised herself to her knees. "M-m-m-m-m-e-e-e-e," she stuttered fearfully.

"Come with me," the leader grabbed her elbow and lifted her to her feet. They quickly walked to the other end of the bank where the private offices were located. Staring down the barrel of a gun and unable to flame on, there wasn't much Johnny could do except wait for an opening.

Wet and oddly cold from the fire retardant, he couldn't ignore the sinking feeling that gnawed into his gut as the door clicked closed behind the robber and the pretty manager. He stared at it for a few more seconds, and when no shots sounded, he glanced back at Linus, who was grinning widely at the prospect of holding the Human Torch at gunpoint. Johnny choked out a groan, laid his aching head against the ground and focused on breathing.

After a moment, oxygen finally floated to his brain, bringing with it one clear thought: When this all was over, he was going to _kill_ Reed for getting him into this mess.


	3. Chapter 3

Reed was in the middle of performing a complex distillation of an unknown liquid when the lights flickered once, twice, then switched completely off.

"JOHNNY!" he bellowed. He pulled his phone from his pocket and angrily dialed the familiar number. He waited as the phone continued to ring without his brother-in-law picking up.

"One thing!" Reed shouted into the handset after Johnny's cheery voice quickly belted out the recording. "I let you live here with Sue and me, I let you eat us out of house and home, I allow you to take over my entertainment center and all I ask from you is one thing: get my stipend to the bank so we can have power for the weekend. I didn't realize that was too much to ask!" he angrily snapped his phone closed, staring at the LED screen that was providing scant amounts of light in the pitch black room.

_What he wouldn't give for Johnny's inherent power source right about now…_ he thought darkly, his face scrunched into a permanent scowl.

He heard a key rattling in the lock of the front door and carefully began to maneuver his way out of the lab.

"Reed?" Sue yelled, concern prevalent in her tone, as she pushed open the door, letting the yellow hallway light flood into the darkened floor. "Reed!"

"I'm here Sue," her husband's voice said from the shadows next to her, causing her to jump.

"Don't do that to me!"

"I'm sorry," Reed apologized, stepping into the doorway and blinking owlishly as his pupils adjusted to the large quantities of light assaulting them.

Sue dropped two bags in the entryway and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "What were you working on?" she questioned after a long-suffering sigh.

"Nothing that would cause the power outage."

"So you didn't take the NSF stipend to the bank on time," Sue surmised, pulling her phone from her pocket and turning on the display to use as a small flashlight.

"No, no," Reed slipped in front of her, halting her motion. "I sent Johnny to the bank with it around four. Apparently, it didn't get there soon enough."

Sue flipped over her phone and glanced at the time. "It's almost five-thirty, Reed. You haven't heard back from him yet?"

The scientist shook his head.

"I. Am going. To _kill_ him," Sue hissed. "My girlfriends and I were going to have a spa party here this weekend since Cindy can't get enough time off work for us to go to a real one."

"Wait, you're what?" Reed paled as he realized just what that meant for his normally peacefully living space.

"Well you can stop worrying since nothing's going to happen if we don't have power," Sue reached up and gently tapped Reed's cheek.

"No, I guess not," Mr. Fantastic breathed, a grateful look passing over his face.

"Don't think I didn't see that."

"See what?" Richards stuttered as he schooled his expression into disinterest.

"Guess we'll just reschedule for next weekend. The power will be back on then, right?" she asked as she shuffled into the living room and pulled the heavy curtains to one side. "Do you know where I put those candles?" she asked as she opened a set of windows on the other side of the room before heading into the bedroom to do the same. "We'll need them soon."

"Wait, Sue, are you sure rescheduling is such a good idea?" Reed scurried after her.

He paused as his phone chirped, and flipped it open without looking at the Caller ID, fully expecting it to be Johnny. "Where the hell have you been?"

There was dead silence on the line. Reed pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced at the display. "Mayor Watson," he stammered. "I'm so—"

"Can it, Richards. We have a situation of a very sensitive nature."

"Of course sir," Reed agreed, glad for the change in subject. "What can we help you with?"

"Is your wife around?"

Reed's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. "Sue," he shouted after pulling the phone away from his ear and holding his hand over the mouthpiece.

"What, Reed?" his wife emerged from the bathroom, a candle in each hand. "This weekend could be awfully romantic," she raised one eyebrow and swayed suggestively.

"It's the mayor," he thumbed the speakerphone. "You have myself and Sue on the line."

"Mrs. Richards," Watson greeted her warmly. "Always a pleasure."

"Thank you, sir. What can the Fantastic Four do for you today?"

"There's a situation at the branch of the State Credit Union on 4th."

Sue's eyes widened and she whipped around to face Reed. "That's where you sent Johnny, isn't it?" she demanded, her eyes wide with concern.

Frozen by the intensity of her glare, he just nodded.

"What exactly is this situation?" she questioned tersely.

"The silent alarm at the manager's station was pulled at 4:58 PM. We have eyewitness reports that say armed gunmen entered the building moments before that."

Sue's breath caught in her throat. _There are plenty of reasons Johnny wasn't home, _she tried to reassure herself. _If he wasn't able to deposit the check, he was probably at a local bar watching the first round of the X-Games._

"I don't understand, mayor," Reed spoke up, in the meantime. "This doesn't sound like anything the NYPD can't handle."

"It's a rather unique circumstance, I'm afraid. The NYPD was running through the security footage and..." the mayor paused. "I'm sorry Mrs. Richards. We have footage of your brother approaching the teller window, just before the feed was cut."

The candles slipped out of Sue's hands and smashed into the ground, shattering instantly.

"Facial recognition says it's a 95% match," the mayor continued, oblivious to Reed carefully guiding his shocked wife out of the ring of broken glass. "I want to extend my apology on the behalf of the entire city you have strove to hard to protect, and assure you that we will do everything in our power to ensure his and the other hostages' safety."

Suddenly, Sue shook from head to toe, her eyes flashing. She grabbed her purse off the entryway table and stormed out of the room, dragging Reed with her, completely ignoring the major who was still speaking. "Unfortunately, we need to ask that you do not—"

Sue grabbed the phone, thumbed off the speakerphone and pressed it against her ear. "Sorry Edgar. We'll be onsite shortly and would love to chat with your men there," she said curtly before she ended the call.

She turned to Reed, her eyes losing the hard edge they had held just seconds before. "Call Ben, tell him to suit up. Johnny needs us."

* * *

The fire foam had just begun to dry, leaving a milky white crust over Johnny's clothes and skin. The coating, though not terribly sturdy, left him feeling oddly claustrophobic, as if it was somehow reducing his ability to function. He was still wheezing slightly but he attributed this to the continued presence of dangerous chemicals he was continuing to breathe in. To avoid this sensation, he tried sloughing off some of the foam before it solidified, but Linus' foot in the small of his back put an end to that.

Temporarily left without any other ideas, Johnny scanned the room for the umpteenth time, looking for a new exit. Eleven hostages had been taken in total and everyone appeared to be following the leader's orders as they continued to lay flat on the ground. Two of the bank's employees were crying, tears running silently down their faces, and most everyone looked downright terrified. There was a young couple who had shifted until they were lying directly next to each other, drawing strength and comfort from the small amount of physical contact they were afforded. They had grabbed the young girl who had wanted to deposit her grandmother's check and were shielding her between them.

He heard soft muttering to his right and saw the elderly woman's lips moving quickly. He focused on the words and was able to recognize them as part of a prayer. _Well, that's good,_ he thought as his gaze landed on the weapon Linus was still eagerly pointing at him. _We could use all the help we can get._

Without warning, the mumbling stopped. The Torch looked over worriedly to see the elderly woman's face contorted in pain, unable to alleviate her ailments with her loosely bound wrists. Remembering the elderly teller, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the man was having the same issues with lying face down on the ground.

"Hey Linus," he spoke up, intentionally using the man's first name and grinning internally when he saw the skin around the robber's eyes and mouth pale noticeably. "Would it kill you to get the elderly chairs?"

Linus's eyes narrowed. "Everyone on the floor. Boss's orders."

"I'm just sayin', it would go a long way for you guys to make some of these people comfortable," he tilted his head at the woman beside him and saw Linus hesitate. "C'mon, just go get two of those padded chairs, maybe let everyone else sit up," he added as an afterthought as his ribs began to throb with the constant pressure of lying on his front. "I just think they'll be more likely to cooperate if you treat them right." He glanced up at the man with his most innocent expression.

Linus's forehead furrowed slightly but he said nothing for several long moments. Despite the ache in his neck, Johnny continued to look up at the gunman, his gaze imploring.

"Fine," Linus finally spat. "Get chairs for the elderly," he announced loudly but the other men hesitated, unwilling to act on an order not given by their leader.

"Chop chop!" he snapped, motioning with his weapon.

Finally, one man broke away from the group and dragged two chairs from the waiting area, unceremoniously lifting first the woman then the elderly bank teller from the ground and dumping them into the chairs. The woman immediately shifted in the chair, the tension dissipating from her face as she found a comfortable position. She glanced over at Johnny and nodded gratefully for a second time. Over his shoulder, the Torch saw the elderly teller also smiling his thanks as he rolled his shoulders in relief.

"Better?" Linus questioned with annoyance.

Elderly or not, it was still very uncomfortable lying on the cool tile. Since Linus had made no objection to the second portion of the request, Johnny rolled onto his back and was about to sit up when a boot collided with the front of his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Johnny squirmed under Linus's boot, trying to extricate himself. With his arms trapped under his body, though, he was unsuccessful. He frowned at the man who was now aiming a weapon directly at his face, his gloved finger inching towards the trigger.

"You agreed to the chair thing," Johnny gasped, "so I thought you'd be okay with the whole 'sitting up' thing too."

"Don't push your luck kid," Linus growled as he hooked his foot under Johnny's side and flipped him onto his stomach.

Before Johnny could retort, a fleshy slap resonated through the eerily silent room. It was followed by muffled yelling and the Torch strained to distinguish the individual words.

"What do you mean it closes at five?!" he heard a male voice exclaim.

Suddenly, the door to the manager's office flew open and the leader stalked out, pulling the manager by her hair. Once they were in everyone's sight, he threw the sobbing woman cruelly to the ground. She immediately curled into a ball, protecting her head with her hands.

He reached over his shoulder and grabbed his shotgun, yanking it around to his front.

"It closes," he turned the weapon on its side and slowly ran his hand up and down the barrel, "at five."

There was a beat of silence.

"What closes?" one goon asked from the other side of the room.

The manager sneered at the woman lying on the ground. "The vault."

One of the men stormed away from the hostages he was guarding and walked directly up to the leader.

"What do you mean it closes at five?" he asked in a low, deadly tone.

The leader nudged the woman with his steel-toed boot. "Tell him lady."

The woman slowly sat up and pushed her hair out of her face, her chest heaving as she tried to calm her breathing. "Um…on the weekends, the electronic lock clicks on at five exactly…It remains locked for the entire weekend until the manager comes in Monday morning…well, Tuesday this week since Monday is a holiday."

The agitated robber stepped directly up to the leader and thrust a gloved finger into his chest. "Why didn't we know about this?" he seethed, his voice barely audible.

The leader was silent for a long moment. He took a deep breath and knelt down, his face inches from the manager's. "You're positive?"

She nodded, a muffled sob escaping her lips. "I swear," she gasped.

He was clearly not convinced. "What's the combination?" he demanded but the manager stared silently at him, her entire body trembling.

When she refused to answer, he leaned back, lifted the shotgun and rested the barrel against her forehead. "I'm only going to ask you one more time," he stated quietly, his right hand moving down the barrel. "What. Is. The. Combination?"

The leader's finger continued to travel toward the trigger guard and Johnny instinctively tensed. He didn't have a plan, considering he was covered in fire retardant which basically nullified his superpower, but, as the leader's finger slipped into the trigger guard, he knew he had to do something—he couldn't let the woman be killed.

Now the man's finger rested against the trigger…put pressure on the trigger.

"Wait!" the girl cried and quickly recited the combination.

"Rusty, go try it," the leader turned to the man standing closest to him, the one who was visibly upset that the vault was permanently closed.

Rusty nodded and sprinted for the back room. Even through the wall, Johnny heard loud electronic clicking and a stifled curse. Seconds later, the man slowly walked back into the room, anger radiating off him in tangible waves.

"The little bitch is right," he spat. "It won't even let me put in a combination. And we can't break in—the vault's solid concrete with a reinforced steel door, and we don't stand a chance of opening that without some serious equipment." Without warning, he jammed his shotgun into his shoulder and waved it wildly from left to right. "We should just kill them all—cut our losses. Start over fresh."

The leader stood up and marched over to Rusty. When he was in striking range, he lifted his hand and viciously backhanded his rebellious colleague. Rusty's head snapped around, blood spraying from his split lip.

"We've invested too much in this plan to just 'cut our losses'," the leader snapped. "Just give me a minute to think!"

He walked back toward the middle of the bank, spun 180 degrees and was about to pace back when Linus cleared his throat, "Ummm….Danny? I, um, may…I may have an idea," Linus bravely continued, clearly frightened at the thought of speaking directly to his superior in his current mood.

"Let's hear it," Danny demanded.

Linus shrugged once and pointed at Johnny. "We use him."

Danny crossed the room in record time and squatted in front of the Torch.

"That's an excellent idea, Linus," he called over his shoulder while he stared directly into Johnny's blue eyes. Storm was barely able to mask the shiver that ran down his spine, from either the directness of the man's gaze or the unpleasant cold he was suffering as a result of the foam drying. He forced himself to stare evenly back, despite the possible scenarios involving him as leverage that were running through his head.

A feral grin spread slowly across the leader's face as he asked, "Just how much are you worth to the city, Johnny Storm?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for all your wonderful reviews!**

* * *

The Richards' blue compact screeched around the corner, barely avoiding a collision with a police officer who was taping off the area outside the State Credit Union. Squad cars lined the newly created boundary and officers were milling around, holding back gawkers and conversing into cellular phones.

Sue had jumped from the vehicle before Reed had even thrown it into park, and had all but sprinted over to Peter Hicks, the local chief of police, who was standing beside his Crown Vic and speaking into the radio clipped to his shoulder.

She waited impatiently while he finished communicating with the other officers before asking, "What's the situation, sir?"

"We don't have much yet," Hicks replied, releasing the PTT button on his radio. "All we know is that, fifty minutes ago, Jenna Martinez was standing in line at the Trader Joe's across the street when she glanced up to see five men dressed entirely in black walk into the bank. She elbowed her husband Richard, who looked over in time to see one of the perps release the blinds for the front windows. He called 911 at 4:57 PM. Jenna doesn't remember seeing which direction the men came from but we're pulling CCTV footage from surrounding businesses to see if we can spot them."

"What's going on inside the bank?"

"We're not sure. The perps haven't tried to contact us yet but the FBI HRT is en route. They should be arriving any minute."

As if on cue, they heard tires squeal and looked up to see a large command vehicle screech around the corner on two wheels. It slammed back to the ground and jolted to a stop just outside the police barrier. Seconds later, the passenger door opened and a lanky, dark-haired man hopped out.

"Perimeter's in check," he announced with an approving nod as the back doors of the van flew open and a four-man tactical team piled out. "Dane," the dark-haired man said to the team member closest to him, "get your men in place, try to get eyes on the inside, you know the drill. Cam," he motioned toward the squad's only woman, her dark brown hair tied in a tight bun that just poked out of the base of her helmet, "close off all outgoing communications and set up a new line that goes straight to my cell phone."

He didn't wait for his team to respond before he walked over to where Hicks and Sue were standing.

"Agent Jones," he said brusquely, flipping open his wallet and showcasing a golden shield. "Who's in charge here?"

"That'd be me," Chief Hicks said as he extended his hand.

Jones looked warily at the outstretched hand and didn't return the gesture. "I'll be taking full control here. I want everything you have on the situation."

While the Chief argued with Jones, Sue saw Reed approaching and stepped to the side so they could converse in private.

"Where have you been?"

Reed shook his head in frustration. "NYPD made me move the car _three_ times before they were convinced it was far enough out of the way. What's going on here?" As Sue recounted her conversation with Hicks, Reed turned his head a full 180 degrees to stare at the activity surrounding the FBI van. When she was finished, he unwound his neck and led his wife back over to where Hicks and Jones were standing.

"Pardon our interruption," he said softly, "but we were wondering why the FBI would want to get involved with this situation?"

"First off, since the '30s, we have investigated all derivations of bank burglary alongside the local police department. In addition, the presence of a known asset to the state of New York, and his propensity to be a bit impetuous, has made this case of the utmost priority," Jones recited, as if by rote.

"That sounds like a politically correct way of saying that you think Johnny's hotheaded tendencies will be a liability in this situation," Reed stated bluntly.

"Honestly, it could go either way: he can either help by diffusing a possibly dangerous situation or, like you said, he becomes a liability through his fame," Jones responded. "In any case, we have to pay special attention to those of you with...abilities…that can be deadly in the wrong hands, or the wrong mindset."

He tilted his head slightly to the right and nodded once before declaring, "Good."

Reed, Sue and the chief exchanged confused glances. "Good?"

Jones frowned at them. "Not you," he pointed to a small earpiece by way of explanation, "my tact team is in place. It's time to open a line of conversation with the gunmen."

He walked quickly toward the back of the van and the other three practically sprinted to keep up with his breakneck pace. Jones climbed into the vehicle, accepted a headset from a red-headed technician and plopped down into the van's only other chair.

"You don't need to stick around," he said offhandedly to the Richardses and the police chief, who were crowding around the van's open doors. "I won't be needing your assistance."

"But my brother is in there!"

Jones' eyes hardened into chips of ice. "That's exactly why I need you to take a step back. You're too close to this one. Let me handle it."

He waved his hand and the man who had been driving the van motioned for Reed, Sue and Chief Hicks to move so he could close the back doors.

Once he and the tech were alone, Jones took a deep breath, interlaced his hands and pushed them away from his body as he tilted his head left and right, feeling his fingers and neck crack satisfyingly before he slid on the headset. "Let's make a phone call, shall we, Donna?"

The red-headed tech nodded and punched a few buttons on a large console. The phone began ringing, once, twice before a connection was made. Jones barely had time to open his mouth before he heard the harsh dial tone.

"Well, that was rude," he commented. "Again!"

This time the perps flat-out refused to answer.

He tried a third time, receiving an open line before the sixth ring.

"We just want to talk," he began.

"We want $1,000,000," a rough voice replied as if Jones hadn't spoken. "500K for the Human Torch, 50K for every other hostage in here. Cash, non-sequential bills—"

"We want proof of life," Jones interjected quickly. There was a beat of silence on the line and Jones wondered if the man had hung up.

"The hostages are unharmed," the voice stated, "_but_ this will not be the case if you don't deliver my money within the hour."

"One hour—" Jones sputtered.

"Keep interrupting and it will be less." The Agent quickly closed his mouth and waited impatiently for the voice to continue.

"I will call in," another pause, "fifty-nine minutes with further instructions. Any attempts to take the building will result in casualties. I would like this to be as peaceful a transaction as possible, but I will not stand for any deception. Are we clear?"

Jones wasn't sure whether or not he should answer.

"Are we clear Agent?" the voice repeated and the dual-clicks of a round being chambered set the negotiator on edge.

"Crystal," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Good," the voice announced before the line went dead.

* * *

"One million dollars."

Johnny momentarily forgot to breathe as he heard the incredibly large number. Given everything he knew about the current economic crisis, he was fairly sure the city wouldn't be parting with any funds to ensure his and the other hostages' safety. While Ben was surviving, not poor by any means but not wealthy either, Reed was broke. _And_, even if either of them had money stashed away, there was no way they would be able to produce a sum that large in an hour.

He lightly banged his forehead against the ground and groaned.

The room was experiencing the same general reaction: many people inhaled sharply and the elderly woman immediately returned to her prayers, though her words became less comprehensible as she prayed more fervently.

A few moments later, Danny sauntered out of the office, carrying a landline phone by its cradle. He tossed it onto the teller's counter and dropped into a high-back chair.

Through the white foam that had collected on the ground, Johnny saw Rusty walk up to Danny, clasp a hand around the back of his neck and pull him close. Though he couldn't make out the words, judging by tense set of Rusty's shoulders, Johnny could tell the man was furious.

"We're going to be fine." Danny reached behind him and dislodged Rusty's hand, immediately pulling away. "I've got a plan."

Rusty glared at his boss for another moment before speaking up, "I hope so." He lifted his shotgun to hip-level and walked back to his position on the other side of the room.

Johnny's eyes refocused on the pile of foam in front of him and noticed for the first time his breathing had quickened without his conscious directive. Attributing it again to the harsh chemicals, he slid backwards a few feet.

He heard someone clearing their throat loudly and tilted his head to see Linus' shotgun aimed at his face.

"Stay where you are!" the robber snapped.

"If I stay by that crap…I'm gonna suffocate," Johnny shot back, shocked by the pause he had to take between words to catch his breath.

Then, Linus leaned closer and his face scrunched up in thought.

"Danny?" Linus called, not taking his eyes off Johnny, though the gaze was no longer angry. In fact, Linus looked rather…worried, which terrified Johnny.

"W'az wrong?" he slurred, terror shooting through his system as he realized he wasn't speaking clearly. Panicked, he glanced left and right to see if anyone else was experiencing the same problem, but found himself the object of almost everyone's stares.

"Are you all right, Mr. Storm?" a younger woman asked quietly from just across the makeshift aisle the gunmen had cleared moments ago.

"'m fine," he returned instinctively, even though he felt anything but. The room suddenly felt very small and the other hostages who had at one point been strewn across the lobby were now very close to him, so close he could hear their hitched breathing and feel the heat radiating off them. Even Linus leaned in closer until their noses were practically touching.

"Wha'd you do…to me?" he gasped as the room shrunk another few feet.

Everyone was so close—he had to get away. Had to get out. He tried to move but found himself unable to so much as twitch. His breath was coming in heaving gasps but his system wasn't registering the air he was bringing in. His lungs began to burn with the lack of oxygen and black spots danced in front of his vision.

In the now very small room, he heard screaming and shouting. The shouting was frenzied but authoritative and the screaming was high-pitched and horrifying, like a stereotypical scream from a B-horror movie that had been ramped up in strength and intensity. It needed to stop. Pronto.

On top of all that, it was getting very cold, which was very unusual given his elevated body temperature. He was shaking—or maybe he wasn't, but that meant the room was moving, which was perhaps a worse option.

Suddenly he was rolled onto his back and hit in the stomach by a subdued spray. Unlike the foam earlier, this new spray was room temperature and lacked the fire retardant's harsh force. As the softer spray landed on the foam, he felt the coating loosen its vice-like grip. This was followed by a strange warmth that moved up and down his arms and chest, causing the gunk to disappear from his skin.

The rubbing moved to his face and he became alert enough to feel a soft fabric being dragged back and forth, dislodging the remainder of the fire retardant. With every swipe, he could feel air moving more freely past his face, flowing into his nose and mouth, and the intense claustrophobia that had engulfed him a moment ago drifted slowly away. He sputtered wildly in an uncoordinated attempt to breathe again and rose up slightly, leveraging himself against his arms which were still bound behind him.

Once his lungs stopped feeling like they were going to burst, he lifted a heavy eyelid and saw a bank employee lightly spraying him with a large emergency hose that extended from the far wall. Another hostage was following the spray's path with a towel, scrubbing at the white foam clinging to him.

"Thank…you," he croaked, swirling saliva in his mouth and spitting out a large ball of white foam. He leaned on his arms and managed to scoot to his left, out of the wet remains of the fire retardant. Then he lay back against the ground, his chest heaving, while the other hostage continued to wipe the foam off his body.

"What the hell was that?" Danny demanded once he realized Johnny would live. His tone was deadly and his eyes shot lasers into each of his men.

"I have no idea," Linus squeaked.

"It appears he had some reaction to the fire foam," the fifth man, who had remained quiet until this point, spoke up.

"Ya think, Sherlock?" Danny growled. "The city's not going to pay a half a million dollars for a corpse!"

"How were we supposed to know?"

Danny's glare ratcheted up in intensity. "Just keep an eye on him for the next," he paused and glanced up at the large overhead clock, "fifty-five minutes. And don't do anything stupid."

"Stupider than trying to rob a bank with a member of the Fantastic Four in it and dousing the freakin' Human Torch in fire retardant which caused him to stop breathing?" Rusty questioned sarcastically.

"Just _shut up_!" Danny roared, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. "That goes for all of you too!" he spun around, pointing to all the sniffling hostages. "Everyone just _shut_!_ Up_!"

The crying immediately ceased and uncomfortable silence spread throughout the room. Johnny did his best to breathe quietly so as not to upset the clearly unbalanced leader, but the oxygen was just so sweet he was having a hard time not gulping it down.

Danny dropped his shotgun, which slid down its strap and jerked to a stop at his hip, and massaged his temples.

"Fifty-five minutes," he muttered as he slid back into the teller's chair. "In fifty-five minutes, I'll have my money. Then I can retire. And I'll never have to put up with any of this _shit _ever again."

* * *

"You can't be serious!" Jones shouted as he stared at the mayor's visage on a large screen set into the opposite wall of the van. "You want the Fantastic Four to be included?"

"Absolutely. Now, I'm giving you thirty seconds to locate them before I call Mr. and Mrs. Richards myself."

Jones rubbed one hand across his forehead and sighed heavily. "Donna?" he called somewhat resignedly, motioning toward the screen.

The woman nodded and stepped out of the van, returning a moment later with Reed and Sue in tow.

"With all due respect, sir," Sue began, the moment she set foot in the van, "my brother is in there. He needs our help."

Mayor Watson leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "I have to agree with Mrs. Richards," he raised his hand as Jones opened his mouth to interrupt. "Let me finish, Agent Jones. The city has called on the Fantastic Four many times in the past few years to deal with the cases that are beyond the capacity of our own police. Johnny Storm has been extremely helpful on more than one occasion. All I am saying is that the Four should remain updated in case a situation arrives that your team cannot handle."

"And what situation would that be, sir? This is not my team's first rodeo."

"Consider them a back-up plan, nothing more," the mayor announced. Before Jones could speak again, the mayor's phone rang. Watson glanced at the caller ID and declared he needed to take the call. "Keep me in the loop Jones," he added before the video call ended.

Sue spun around to face the FBI Agent. "Fill us in."

Jones shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Donna cleared her throat and glared at him over Reed's shoulder, silently reminding him of Mayor Watson's words. "They asked for a million dollar ransom," he repeated sourly. "Five hundred thousand for Johnny, fifty thousand for everyone else."

Sue gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth, while Reed's jaw dropped to his rib cage. "Where is the city going to get that kind of money?" Reed asked, once he'd restored his jaw to its usual place.

"The city follows the national policy on zero negotiations with terrorists."

"I thought you just said Johnny was an asset?" Sue spat, her jaw working furiously. "Now you won't pay to ensure his safety?"

"There is nothing I can do about the ransom, Mrs. Richards. But my team is the best; we hope to diffuse the situation before a monetary exchange is necessary."

"If my brother gets injured because of you…" Sue stepped angrily toward Jones but Reed grabbed her shoulders, holding her back.

"I think we should be going, Sue," he announced dramatically, spinning his wife around and shoving her out of the van.

"Reed, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Sue snapped as she struggled to loosen Reed's grip on her shoulder.

"Follow my lead!" he hissed, pulling her out of Jones' earshot.

"What?" she repeated angrily, the minute they were outside the police barrier.

"We need to figure out a way to pay the ransom."

"How Reed? We have maybe a few thousand in savings. That's nowhere close to what we need."

Reed grinned. "I'm thinking we need to go more widespread."

"What do you mean, Reed?" Sue asked with a note of exasperation.

"All that media attention we've been getting? It's time to put it to good use."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for your wonderful reviews! My computer has been in the shop for the last two weeks and I've been borrowing laptops in order to get these chapters posted. Even though I haven't been able to respond to your reviews individually, know that I really do appreciate each and every one!**

* * *

A half hour after Danny made his demands, Ben Grimm peeled up to the bank in his reinforced van. He had received Sue's phone call in the middle of a beautiful nature walk with Alicia and had all but carried her back to their room in his haste to get back to the city. He had wanted her to stay the weekend since their room had been paid for in advance, but she insisted on coming back with him, saying she couldn't fully relax until she knew Johnny and the rest of her family were all right.

Ben screeched to a halt just outside the police barrier, ignoring the beat cop who was hollering at him to park elsewhere. In his hurry, he bent the key pulling it out of the ignition and slammed the driver's door so forcefully that it hung crooked in the frame.

"What's going on?" he shouted as he thundered toward Reed and Sue, who were standing next to a black command vehicle, engaged in deep conversation. "How's the Matchstick?"

"We don't know," Sue spat, her blue eyes blazing. "But the man Agent Jones spoke to assured him that the hostages were currently unharmed. They're asking for a million dollars and the city doesn't—"

"—negotiate with terrorists," Ben finished unhappily. "Well Alicia and I don't have much, but we're willing to donate it if it means we get the hostages out safely."

Sue wrapped her arms around Ben and leaned against his chest. "Thank you," she said softly. "But we're hoping it doesn't come to that. Reed has a plan."

"We sent ZNN an anonymous tip that eleven hostages were being held at the State Credit Union for a one million dollar ransom and that the city refuses to pay it," Reed explained. "They set up a fund for those who want to help out and are broadcasting it on their social media sites and the local news channel. I doubt it will raise the entire amount but we're hoping it will be enough to ensure at least some of the hostages' safety."

"But you didn't—"

"No, we didn't mention Johnny was in there. Like Agent Jones said—he's the dark-haired man standing over there—Johnny's fame will either help or harm the situation. There's no need to bring in outside variables to complicate the current equation."

"Richards!" Jones, who had been conversing with SWAT Captain Gregory Malone, stormed towards the three superheroes.

"Jones," Reed returned evenly while Sue barely managed to keep the look of disdain off her face.

"I take it one of you responsible for this?" he flipped his smart phone around and pulled the earbuds out of the headphone jack.

"_We at ZNN have just discovered that a hold-up is in progress at the State Credit Union on 4__th__ and 2__nd__. Eleven people are being held hostage but we've been informed that the city won't pay the million dollar ransom, as per their zero-tolerance policy." _A pretty blond reporter announced from inside the newsroom._ "You don't know who these people are, but they are someone's sons and daughters, wives or husbands, children or parents."_

The scene switched and a red-haired man was standing by an upset woman in her twenties.

"_You say your daughter is in there?" _the man questioned gently, pointing a microphone at the crying mother.

"_She received twenty dollars for her birthday. She's learning about saving and smart spending in school so she wanted to open a bank account with her name on it. I said her father and I would take care of it but I don't think she believed us." _The woman buried her head into her hands._ "I was just across the street buying groceries. When I looked up, she was gone. I called her name, paged her in the store but she didn't come. I didn't even realize that bank was there."_

The scene returned to the newsroom where the blond reporter held up a sign with an abbreviated URL on it.

"_We're asking you to open your pockets and contribute even a few dollars toward the safety and protection of these people—"_

Jones angrily yanked away the phone and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "This wasn't supposed to make the news! Too much media attention makes the situation even more unpredictable!"

"We weren't just going to stand by, twiddling our thumbs, while you tried to barter for eleven lives!"

"Let's just hope the perps don't catch wind of this scheme and ask for more." With that, Jones stormed toward the van and climbed inside, locking the door behind him before any of the Four could follow. Still facing the door, he took a moment to exhale deeply before he spun around and locked gazes with Donna. "What's the word on the visual?"

"It came through about five minutes ago. I tried to call you..."

"I was dealing with something else. Just show me what you have."

Donna pointed to a large screen where a very grainy camera feed could be seen. "They turned off the security cameras within minutes of taking the lobby, but SWAT managed to reactivate one of the cameras remotely."

Jones squinted at the monitor. "Is that the best they could do?"

"Yes. Do you have any idea how difficult that is?" Donna countered. "It's not like the movies!"

"We'll make it work," Jones muttered, cutting Donna off, mid-tirade. "How many gunmen?"

The technician sighed loudly but tapped a few keys, causing the van's second screen to split into five vertical rectangles, each holding the image of a different masked intruder. "Five, just like witnesses said."

"How many hostages?"

"It looks like eleven." She pointed to the first screen where the real-time feed was still playing. "Johnny Storm, four bank employees, five civilians—two male, three female—and a security guard." Donna pointed to each hostage in turn.

"Is the guard alive?"

"If you look really closely," Donna leaned toward the screen until her nose practically touched it, "you can see his chest rise and fall…There!" She pointed at the slight movement. She glanced over her shoulder, waiting for confirmation that Jones had seen it.

Jones nodded absently, then ordered, "Go back to Storm."

With a few clicks of the mouse, a blurry view of Johnny came into view. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the grayish substance surrounding the Torch.

"Uncertain," Donna replied. "SWAT had the feed up since 6:20 and it's been there the entire time."

"Send a copy of the footage to the lab; let's see if we can identify it." He waited until Donna was finished typing before continuing, "For now though, we need to see if we can get the girl released. God knows she's been through enough trauma to last her entire lifetime."

Donna nodded in agreement as she opened the phone line. "I'm patching you through now."

* * *

Danny ran the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated there. The power had gone off thirty minutes ago, taking the air conditioning with it. The backup generators that had flicked on shortly after only covered a few key lights in the main area. Luckily, it was still bright enough outside that, even with the blinds down, there was enough illumination for the robbers to keep track of the hostages.

Not long after the manager had turned off the fire hose, Johnny, who was still a ghastly shade of pale, had begun to cough violently. Scowling at the large white smear on the ground, he had slid backwards a few more feet, rolled onto his side and lifted his bound hands, like he was asking a question in a classroom.

Danny had glared at him but Johnny was undeterred. "What?" the leader had finally snapped.

"D'ya think we all could sit up? Those fumes are pretty nasty," Storm had answered, his voice low and scratchy.

It was then that Danny had noticed the other members of his team giving the white foam a wide berth. "Fine," he had replied and those who were still lying on the ground immediately pushed themselves into a sitting position.

After all the hostages had changed positions, Danny had ordered Linus and Rusty to empty the teller's stations. Using the manager's key, they had been able to find a few thousand dollars in the registers and offices. While Danny sorted the bills into piles based on currency, then wrapped each pile with the bands he found at the teller's station, Linus moved on to examining the vault. None of the robbers believed he'd actually be able to open it, but, given Linus' diverse background, it was worth a shot to let him try.

The phone rang again around 6:30. Danny, who had been watching a section of the hostages while Linus was gone, fixed the room with a deadly glare and raised his weapon in the air before walking back to the teller's window and lifting the handset to his ear.

"You're early," he barked cheerily.

"Not exactly."

"Then why did you call?"

"I have a request—please listen to the whole thing before you hang up!" Jones waited for a split second and, when he didn't hear a dial tone, continued. "I get called in to make sure everyone gets what they want, within reason, of course. You want your money and we want everyone in there to walk away safely. But I know you have a girl—a child—in there. She's nine, ten tops? She's not crucial to your plans and I'm sure she's terrified. At this point, she's more of a liability. Why don't you just send her out as a sign of good faith?"

Danny glanced over his shoulder at the young girl who was curled between a younger couple, her eyes red and puffy. His heart swelled as he noticed her quivering noticeably.

He may be a criminal but he wasn't heartless.

"The price stays the same," he shouted, slamming the phone into its cradle.

"Rusty!" he bellowed as he straightened up. "Unlock the doors."

The second-in-command walked up to Danny and grabbed his bicep. "You can't be serious!" Rusty hissed.

"Yes, I am." Danny shook his arm free and turned to face the hostages.

"All I wanted was the money," he announced to the room. "Granted, the plan changed when the vault couldn't be opened, but I was taught to anticipate all possible outcomes. I'm sure you all disapprove of my methods but you'll be happy to know I am not an unreasonable person. Some of you are not fit to stay here any longer, which is why we will be releasing you as a sign of good faith.

"Frank!" He pointed to the teller, the older woman and the young girl, "escort these three to the front door."

To Danny's great surprise, there were no complaints from the rest of the hostages about his choices.

Frank helped the elderly stand upright before prying the young girl away from the couple, who were coaxing her to go quietly and to not struggle. The girl did the best she could, sitting statuesque in Frank's arms, despite the large tears rolling down her face. He quickly dropped her next to the older hostages and she instinctively latched on to the elderly woman, refusing to let go of her leg.

Frank positioned himself behind the hostages and poked the elderly man in the back with his weapon.

"Walk," he growled.

At a painstaking pace to account for the stiff limbs of the elder hostages, they crossed the foyer, their heels clicking ominously against the tile.

Rusty was waiting at the doorway where he pulled the metal chains through the handle before shoving the three freed hostages out of the bank and slamming the door behind them.

* * *

Reed, Sue and Ben watched three hostages emerge from the bank, squinting in the harsh spotlight. SWAT Captain Malone's team approached quickly but cautiously, lead by two men bearing large shields. They hustled in formation toward the bank door, surrounded the hostages and headed back toward the FBI van, where Jones was standing on the bumper to help them into the raised command vehicle. Fully aware of the cramped space inside the van, Sue knew there wouldn't be any room for her, Reed or Ben to sit in, while Jones took the freed hostages' official statements. She would have to wait for him to finish before she could find out what had happened.

She had just decided to talk to Chief Hicks to see what else they could do, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and heard someone call her name. She spun around and saw a young police officer standing behind her. "What can I do for you, officer?"

The policeman shifted his weight nervously and ran a hand through his brown hair before responding. "I need you to come with me—"

"I'm not leaving my brother!" Sue stated, crossing her arms under her chest and shooting the officer a dark look, thinking he had been tasked with removing her from the crime scene. At her outburst, Reed turned around and stepped in front of his wife, his eyes flashing.

"Um, it's not that," the officer stepped closer so they were less than a foot apart. "I think I have a way for you to raise that money," he said softly, so only she and Reed could hear.

Sue was silent for a moment, forcing herself to tamp down on the hope that was bubbling up inside her, then said, "We'll follow you." She turned to Ben who was towering menacingly over the officer. "I hate to ask this of you, Ben, but—"

"I'll stay here in case there's any news. Don't worry about me, Suzie."

"We'll be back as soon as possible," she promised, shooting Ben a grateful look.

The officer led Reed and Sue past the perimeter, past the rows of squad cars and press vans, to a small sedan parked in an empty lot three blocks away. He popped the trunk and latched onto a strap, pulling a large duffel bag into the trunk's opening.

"What is that?" Sue asked, her hands splayed by her side, ready to create a protective force field if need be.

The officer silently unzipped the duffel, revealing stacks and stacks of cash. "It's just under 750 thousand," he said, stepping out of the way so she and Reed could see it for themselves.

Sue wordlessly pulled one bundle from the bag and bent it back, releasing the one end so the bills flew by like a flip-book. "Where did you get all this?" she breathed, staring at the hundreds in her hand.

"Victor von Doom."

Sue immediately dropped the cash and surrounded the officer with a force field, beating Reed, who had been prepared to bind the man's arms to his sides. "You have ten seconds to explain," she ground out.

"He didn't give it to me!" the man replied, anxiously pushing his bangs out of his face. "It was sitting in evidence, collecting dust. I just thought we could put it to good use, saving all those people…"

"Why would you do this?" she asked, fully aware of how little the NYPD officer made and knowing he could probably have put the money to personal use.

"I was there on the bridge," he responded, "the day you revealed your powers. Traffic ground to a halt when that semi flipped. My sister wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and hopped out of the car. I told her not to, but she was too excited, especially when people started talking about an orange rock man. I had just spotted her on the other side of the bridge when that tank blew. I wasn't close enough to do anything but Johnny, he saved her. I'll always owe him for that."

Sue dropped her force field and pulled the officer into a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear.

"I wish there were more," he said, squirming uncomfortably in Sue's embrace. She quickly caught on and released him.

"It's more than what we had."

In that moment, Reed's cell phone started ringing.

"You need to get back here," Ben stated before he could speak. The officer saw the urgency on Reed's face and quickly zipped up the duffel, slinging it over his shoulder. Slamming the trunk shut, he nodded at Reed, who told Ben, "We're on our way."

* * *

The Thing and Agent Jones were standing outside the command van, their faces grotesquely illuminated in the spotlights that had been set up around the perimeter, when Sue, Reed and the officer arrived.

"What's that?" the agent asked immediately, pointing to the duffel.

"Donations," the officer responded, his face deceptively blank.

"How much?"

"750K."

The agent whistled. "That's alotta cash. Can I ask how you came about it?"

"I told you. People don't want to watch their friends die because the city refused to help." The officer shrugged the bag off his shoulder and dropped it at Jones' feet. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," he advised before heading off to talk to Chief Hicks.

"What did you find out, Agent?" Sue asked before Jones could continue to question the money's origins.

"The three hostages weren't able to give us anything helpful. It's a five-man team, all were wearing masks and body armor. They were able to remember a few first names but nothing's popping in the system. Probably aliases. They did have some information about your brother," Jones fell silent, rolling one shoulder uncomfortably.

Sue's heart dropped into her stomach as she recognized the nervous twitch. "What's wrong with Johnny?" she asked, her voice deceptively level.

"Let's discuss it inside," Jones popped open the van's doors and motioned for all three of them to climb in, Ben included. The fit was tighter than before, given Ben's size, and Donna wisely opted to wait outside.

"Well, out with it!" Grimm snapped the moment the doors were closed.

"The perps wanted to make sure Johnny wasn't going to cause any trouble and doused him in fire retardant. He had some sort of reaction to it."

Sue gasped and Reed protectively wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "How is he?"

"Fine now. Apparently they sprayed him down with the fire hose and he's breathing normally again. I just thought you should know. The victims were sworn to secrecy and were privately escorted to the hospital so there is little chance this will leak to the press."

He paused, his vast experience telling him that an angry, but well-intentioned, outburst was coming. Sure enough, Sue straightened up and pointed her finger directly at Jones' face. "You need to find a way to get all of them out safely or we'll find a way to do it for you."

"We're doing our best, Mrs. Richards."

"It's not enough, now, is it?" Sue questioned, though it sounded more like a statement to Jones. She stood and walked toward the back doors, but paused with one hand on the handle. Without looking over her shoulder, she quietly said, "Just please get my brother out of there."

Not being one to instill false hope, the FBI agent watched silently as Reed and Ben followed The Invisible Woman out of the van. Then he sat back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. It wasn't like he enjoyed giving them that news. It had been out of professional courtesy, considering they technically weren't on the case to begin with.

The doors popped open again and Donna entered. "Five minutes," she said softly, sitting in front of her console.

"How are we doing on funds?"

"Given the $750,000 the Richards acquired, there's about $50,000 in donations from the station."

"We're still short," Jones groaned. "The mayor still refuses to help?"

"Sadly yes."

The phone in the van rang, its display lighting up the small space. Jones shot Donna a look, allowing her to pull on her headset, before answering. "This is Jones."

"Do you have my money?"

"We have almost all of it but—"

"How much do you have?"

"800. We can get the rest. We just need a little—"

Jones pulled the phone away from his ear as a sharp crash resounded over the line, followed by heavy static.

"What's happening?" Jones shouted as screams and labored breathing flitted over the line.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, followed by a howl of pain.

Jones leaned forward in his seat, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Here's a new plan," a different, harsher voice said. "We shoot one hostage every half hour until you get us our money."

"We'll do our best but—"

"No buts. And I'd hurry if I were you. That gunshot wound in Johnny Storm's shoulder is going to need medical attention."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for your continued support! I am supposed to get my computer back sometime this week so hopefully I can update more regularly.**

* * *

The gunshot echoed down the block, silencing all the onlookers for a quick second. Then panic struck. Bystanders who had been waiting to watch the law enforcement officers in action now sprinted to their cars, anxious to get away from the violence. Police Chief Hicks was shouting into his phone while the SWAT Captain Malone was demanding to know if anyone had eyes on the situation.

"JOHNNY!" Sue cried as she raced for the surveillance van. The worst possible situations were streaming through her head: Johnny had been shot, Johnny was dead...someone else had been shot. Relief flooded through her with that last thought but she immediately felt guilty for wishing that someone besides her brother had been seriously injured.

She reached the vehicle in less than ten seconds and tore the doors open.

"What is happening?" she shouted, hauling herself indoors.

Jones looked up from the counter but couldn't quite meet her glance. He really didn't need to—she was able to read the guilt splashed over his pale face.

"Johnny," she breathed, sinking into a chair Donna had pushed into her path. "Is he…"

"He's alive," Jones motioned toward the screen, where Johnny was writhing on the ground, his left arm pressed tightly against his right shoulder.

"Sue!" Reed had now reached the van and hopped inside. Seconds later, Ben attempted to follow, but there wasn't enough room in the already crowded van with the four normal-sized humans, so he resigned himself to standing the doorway.

"Oh god," Reed breathed as his gaze landed on the footage. Ben swore under his breath and pounded the side of his fist into the wall of the van, leaving a sizable dent.

"They shot my brother," Sue whispered, clenching her palms so tightly that her fingernails left angry red crescents in her palm.

"You said you would take care of this!" Reed seethed, fixing Jones with a deadly glare as he wrapped an arm around Sue and pulled her close.

"Something changed in there. The dynamic," Jones tried to explain in a low tone. "The one I was speaking with isn't the one who shot your brother. Someone else came on…after…and made new demands."

He turned to Donna. "Get Malone in here. We need to reevaluate our other options."

Though Sue heard the conversations going on around her, her eyes never left the grainy camera feed. As she watched, one of the other hostages, a man dressed in Bermuda cargo shorts and what looked like a leather jacket, rose to his knees, his mouth blurring into motion. After a long moment, he stopped talking and pushed his arms away from his back. One of the masked men unhappily walked over, pulled a knife from his belt and severed the plastic tie around the hostage's wrists. The man immediately pushed himself upright, only faltering once on stiff legs, and hurried over to where Johnny was lying.

"What can we do?" Ben asked quietly, tearing his eyes away from the screen.

Jones was silent for a long moment before exhaling loudly and saying, "Raise awareness for that fund you started. At this point, it might be the only way we get everyone out alive."

* * *

Unbeknownst to occupants of the van, a young reporter, who had been skulking around the police barrier for the better part of the day looking for news, was training a concealed, jerry-rigged parabolic mic at the slightly ajar rear doors of the van. Though the residuals from the gunshot were messing with the homemade device's reception, the reporter had still been able to overheard the Four's entire conversation.

"They shot Johnny Storm?" he gasped, pulling out his phone and dialing his editor. "I am so getting promoted for this!"

* * *

Johnny had never been in so much pain in his entire life. Not even his encounter with the cosmic storm, which had felt like his nerve endings were being ripped out one by one, had felt like this.

The world was spinning viciously around him, objects swirling into indistinct blobs of tans, whites and blacks. He could vaguely make out yelling but that quickly faded into a dull ringing as white hot agony blossomed in his right shoulder. He fought to remain conscious but it was like travelling up a "down" elevator on rollerblades. He clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth ground together as he struggled to suppress the cries of pain that were determined to make an appearance. His chest heaved with the effort but he would not give these men the satisfaction of seeing him verbalize his discomfort.

Well, that was the plan, anyway, until someone pressed a rough object against his wound. Johnny's vision was overtaken by a rather impressive fireworks show and he was fairly certain he lost consciousness.

When he came to, he was lying on his back, his arms now bound in front of him and his right shoulder propped up by something soft. Though a sharp, stabbing pain instantly began to radiate from his wound, the monotone buzzing he had been hearing slowly disappeared, leaving only quiet sobs and angry pacing in its wake.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Johnny slowly unclenched his jaw, grimacing as the muscles creaked to life, and cracked open one eye. Through a haze, he saw a younger man kneeling at his side, the one in the bomber jacket who had stepped in front of the young girl when the gunmen had first arrived.

"How are you doing?" the man asked softly.

Without moving his head, Johnny glanced at his right shoulder and saw a wad of paper towels, mostly likely from the bathroom, packed against his joint, held in place by a fair amount of duct tape. "Aw…som'," Johnny rasped, closing his eye again.

"Here," the man gently put his hand behind Johnny's head and tilted it forward, holding what felt like a bottle to his lips. Thinking it was water, Johnny cracked open his mouth and felt a cool liquid flow in. He wasn't expecting the sharp burning that accompanied the liquid and he choked. Alcohol sprayed out of his mouth as he shot upright, his eyes flying open as he struggled yet again to bring air into his lungs. Coughs racked his frame and he was forced to divide his attention between keeping his shoulder still and relearning how to breathe.

"The…hell?" he wheezed when he had caught his breath.

"It'll take the edge off," the man replied, holding the bottle again to Johnny's lips. Storm knew he couldn't actually get drunk but he was so desperate to feel anything but the knifing agony in his shoulder that he was willing to try it. He took a small sip of the alcohol, forcing it down.

"Keep drinking, kid. It's the manager's good stuff," the man continued, tilting the bottle just a little bit more. Johnny did as the man ordered, consuming most of the bottle before a pair of boots stepped into his limited line of sight.

"That's enough!" someone_—_probably the person now standing in front of him_—_shouted and pulled the glass away from Johnny's mouth.

The Torch lethargically lifted his gaze to see Rusty standing over him, pointing a recently fired handgun directly at his face. It took longer than it should have, but Johnny recognized it as the one that had been hanging from Danny's belt.

When he refocused on the man holding the weapon, he saw Rusty draining the remainder of the alcohol himself, smacking his lips and shaking his head wildly as he drank the last drop. "That _is_ good. Too bad you wasted most of it on the famous 'Johnny Storm'. What are you going to do when we're forced to shoot another one?"

"There won't be another one," the man who was helping Johnny replied with forced bravado. "They'll come up with the money."

"Sure they will," Rusty turned on his heel and stormed away.

_Shoot another one? _Johnny swished around the saliva in his mouth, gathering a small amount of moisture before asking, "What'd I…miss?"

"Rusty, the second-in-command knocked out Danny, the head honcho," the man whispered. "He took over the phone conversation. If they don't come up with the money, he's going to shoot someone every half hour until they do."

"How much...longer?" Johnny croaked.

"Twenty minutes."

Johnny concentrated hard and lifted his head off the ground. This new angle allowed him to see the rest of the hostages staring worriedly at him. He raised the corner of his mouth into what he hoped was a reassuring smile but probably looked more like a grimace.

Across the foyer, he saw the lean guard, Linus, securing Danny's hands behind his back with a plastic tie and adhering a strip of duct tape over his mouth. Rusty was overseeing the process, his newly-acquired weapon held at the ready.

Johnny grimaced as pain stabbed through his shoulder but was cognizant enough to realize that the force was slightly less strong than before...perhaps the alcohol _was_ helping. "How bad?" he asked, looking pointedly at his injured joint.

"No exit wound. But according to my father, a detective for the BPD, it's not as bad as they make it sound in the movies. We keep it clean and get you to the hospital pretty soon and you should be fine." The man offered him an uneasy smile but the fear in his eyes belayed the effect he was hoping for.

Johnny leaned his head back against the cool tile, grimacing as he inadvertently moved his shoulder. "What happens next?"

The man shrugged halfheartedly. "If they can't get the money, probably a breach."

"'Swhat I thought," Johnny nodded slowly. Before the Fantastic Four had been able to assist law enforcement, Mayor Watson had had them all attend workshops about gun safety, emergency medicine and SWAT protocol. Johnny had paid very close attention, on the off chance that this information would save someone's life someday.

"We need to do sumthin'…" He paused when he realized he didn't know the man's real name.

"Colin," the man filled in.

"Colin. We need to do sumthin', Colin," Johnny repeated in a brisk whisper.

"My father would tell us to trust the feds," Colin whispered, purposefully keeping his back facing the guards so they couldn't overhead, "but I don't think that's the right option."

"Wha' else...would he say?"

"Keep calm, don't antagonize the perps and don't make yourself a target during SWAT's entry."

"Yeah, that's not gonna...work for us."

"That's enough chitchat!" Frank shouted from the other side of the room.

"I need to find out how he's doing, unless you want him to slip into shock," Colin shot back.

"He's talking, he's fine," Frank motioned with his shotgun and Colin reluctantly moved a few feet away. "Much better," the armed man muttered.

"Rusty!" Both Colin and Johnny glanced in the direction of the voice and saw the stocky fifth guard, who had yet to be referred to by name, standing in the doorway of one of the offices, motioning wildly at his new boss. "You need to see this!"

* * *

"Tom!"

"Unless you've swung us a conference with the mayor, Donna, I don't have time for it," Jones replied in a strained tone. His discussion with the SWAT captain was less than pleasing. Captain Malone believed that the best option was to surround and enter the building. There were only eight hostages left and four, maybe five perps still at large. From the footage they had gained, the perps seemed to be surrounding the hostages in a half-circle, their backs to the entry way. Therefore, the Captain surmised, a forward entrance would be most likely to reduce the loss of innocent lives.

But Jones didn't just want to _reduce _loss of life, he wanted to _eliminate_ it all together. Unfortunately, time was not on his side.

"Sir, I really think you should see this."

Frustration seeping out of every pore, he spun around in his chair and shot his assistant a scathing look. "What?!"

Donna ignored his glare and angled her computer monitor, unplugging the headphones so her boss could hear the newscast.

"_We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you a breaking news bulletin regarding the hostage situation at the State Credit Union on 4th and 2nd. We at ZNN have just received word that three of the hostages—two elderly and one child—have been released."_

"_Well, that certainly is good news," _a male newscaster responded.

"_It is,"_ the woman continued, _"but there are still eight other people in there, including Johnny Storm—"_

"The _Johnny Storm of the Fantastic 4?"_

"_Unfortunately, yes. According to our source, he was in the bank at the time of the robbery and was taken as one of the hostages. He has been injured but is still alive. Now, we will again ask you to open your pocketbooks. Any donation you can make will help the remaining eight hostages return to their families tonight."_

Jones swore under his breath and buried his head in his hands. Once the perps caught wind of this, they would almost certainly ask for more money, now that they knew the city was aware that one of their favorite superheroes had been taken hostage as well. Given the unpredictability of the new leader, Jones was uncertain they would be able to buy more time to raise the increased ransom.

"Not exactly," Donna replied, readjusting her monitor so it was facing her. "As much as you didn't want that little tidbit to come to light, it's actually doing more good than bad." She typed furiously on the keyboard for a moment before swiveling the screen back to Jones.

The negotiator stared at the bank account summary, his gaze focusing on the larger numbers at the top of the page. His heart skipped a beat as he read the sum but took the time to double-check by counting the zeros, first from left to right, then from right to left.

"We have enough," he breathed.

"We have enough," Donna confirmed. She reached out and slugged him lightly on the shoulder. "Now, do what you do best and get those hostages out of there."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

Rusty propped his feet up on the desk in the manager's office and leaned back in the incredibly plush chair. He took a swig of bottled water, which he had grabbed from the break room moments ago, and glanced back into the foyer. A snarl curled up the corner of his mouth when he saw Danny jerk wildly against his new restraints. Even from this distance, Rusty was able to hear the muffled yet angry exclamations emanating from behind the duct tape.

He'd come too far to walk away from this without some serious cash in hand. Yes, his share of $800,000 would have been much more than they originally would have gotten from the vault, but the situation had changed; they'd taken hostages. The team wasn't supposed to have had more than a few minutes contact with any of the bank patrons. Now, over an hour later, the risk they could be identified by some small idiosyncrasy—an accent, a limp, some random DNA left at the scene—had skyrocketed.

Because of all that, Rusty wasn't ready to settle for less than his share of a million. He'd been planning the perfect escape for months now: no airport, no bus station, just him and the used car he'd bought a few months back and had since paid off in full. He had already found the perfect town to live in until this all died down, and had been travelling there every few weeks to make his interest in a one-person flat well-known. After a few years, he could leave the country if he wanted; Canada, Mexico, it didn't matter. All he knew for certain was he was going to make his share last. In a couple months, he was going to get a blue-collar job and maybe even begin to invest some of the ransom, small amounts at a time, of course. He'd seen enough movies to know that bad guys were caught when they drew attention to themselves or lived beyond their means. He was determined to break that trend.

None of that mattered to Danny, who was only here for the planning, the adrenaline rush, and the perfect execution. He wasn't struggling financially like the rest of the team. So Rusty had knocked out Danny and taken his place as leader, determined to get every last dime from the city that had ruined him.

The phone shrilled and he let it ring once, twice before answering. "You have my money?" he drawled, lifting his weapon into the air and staring down the barrel at the hostages.

"Yes."

Rusty swept his feet off the desk, lowered his shotgun and leaned forward anxiously. "Tell me more."

"One million dollars. Cash."

"Non-sequential bills?"

"Considering you only gave us an extra half hour, I can't guarantee it."

"Very well." Rusty straightened up slightly and noticed that Linus was staring curiously at him. He motioned for his teammate to wait, then refocused on his call with the hostage negotiator. "Now, I need a van, unmarked in any way and a fresh set of plates. I want it parked in front of the bank in fifteen minutes. You do that and I'll release two more hostages. Then, you're going to place the million into a set of duffel bags and leave them at the front of the bank. At that point, one of the hostages will grab the money so I can count it. If it's all there, I'll _consider_ letting four more of them go. Any questions?"

"What about the other two?"

"It depends on how well you follow directions."

"You'll get your van," Jones promised, "but the process will go much smoother if the city knows you didn't murder their favorite superhero. Will you allow us to get Johnny Storm the medical attention he needs?"

Rusty stared at the Torch, who was struggling to sit upright with help from another hostage. Sweat poured down his face as he attempted to keep his shoulder still. "Nope. He's my biggest bargaining chip. I'll tell you this though: he's alive. Keep playing my game and his condition won't get worse."

With that, he slammed the phone into its cradle. Then he lifted his shotgun off the desk, settled the butt against his hip, and walked into the main room, grinning widely. "Good news," he announced, instantaneously capturing everyone's attention. Even Storm looked up from the ground, though his gaze was hazy. "The money is in."

He paused for a moment, listening to the exhales of relief. "Linus, Frank, Reuben, prepare the hostages. Make sure they're secured." His men immediately set about checking the plastic ties around the hostages' wrists. Linus was ready to leave Colin's hands free, in case Storm needed further medical attention, but Frank roughly stepped in front of him and forcefully retied Colin's wrists.

When they had finished, Rusty squatted down beside Danny, dug his fingers into his boss' jaw and turned his head so the two were looking eye to eye. "You just didn't have the _cojones_ to stick with it. Look at us now. A cool mil is heading our way as we speak."

Danny's eyes burned with anger but Rusty just shook his head sadly. "Be glad I'm not leaving you." He released his hand, leaving Danny's head to collide with the tile.

"Oops," he deadpanned, without an ounce of remorse, as he stood and clapped imaginary dust from his gloves.

"What now, Rusty?" Linus asked, after examining the last hostage.

"Now we wait."

* * *

The next fifteen minutes were the longest of Sue Storm's life. After handing von Doom's money over to Agent Jones, she had nothing to do but wait.

Donna had forwarded the live stream of the security footage to Sue's phone, knowing there wouldn't be room in the van for her, Reed or Ben, once hostages started being released. After consulting with Chief Hicks, who told the Four that should wait to see how Jones' plan played out before doing anything drastic, they stood to the side of the FBI van, just far enough out of the reach of prying paparazzi or reporters, their eyes glued to the silent black-and-white feed.

About ten minutes after Jones had made his latest call, they heard the screeching of the police barriers being moved, and glanced up to see a nondescript white van pulling in. The driver had a quick discussion with Agent Jones before he backed the van into the unoccupied space in front of the bank, stopping just before the sidewalk.

The gunmen must have been watching for, within the same minute, the door to the bank opened and a younger man and woman were roughly thrown out. SWAT was instantly on the move, forming a protective barrier around the couple and guiding them to safety. They were quickly ushered into the back of Jones' van, followed immediately by an FBI-cleared paramedic. While the Invisible Woman was glad two civilians had been released, seemingly unharmed, the big sister in her grew more fearful for her brother's safety, especially as he became less and less active on the security feed.

Minutes after that, she saw SWAT Captain Malone reach for his earwig and respond affirmatively. He walked over to a hunter green sedan, where a majority of his team was standing, and tapped one of them on the back. That man nodded, then reached into the backseat and pulled out a blue duffel bag, signing a form with his left hand as he did so. He hoisted that bag onto his back and lifted the duffel from the von Doom estate with both hands while another SWAT agent picked up a ballistic shield and stepped in front of his teammate. On Malone's nod, the men moved in tandem past the police barrier to the front stoop where the second man lowered the bags to the ground. Never turning their backs to the bank, the men quickly retreated.

When they were back at the police barrier, the door to the bank slid open again and a male hostage—the one who had been assisting Johnny, Sue realized—stepped through, his bound hands raised in surrender. As the barrel of a shotgun poked out of the door jamb, the hostage cautiously bent down and chucked the heavy bags into the bank. When he was finished, he slowly stood upright and faced the open doorway. Without a word being exchanged, the barrel of the shotgun disappeared and a second hostage, a redheaded woman wearing a polo shirt with the bank's logo emblazoned on the pocket, was shoved out. SWAT waited until the door slammed closed before collecting the hostages with practiced fluidity.

In the moments that followed, Sue remained glued to the feed on her phone, while the entire crowd outside the bank fell into an eerie silence, as if everyone was holding their breath. Finally, the door opened a third time and two more hostages, a semi-conscious security guard and a blond bank employee, on which he was leaning heavily, were ejected. SWAT collected them as easily as the first seven.

After a few more agonizing minutes, Jones walked over to Reed, Sue and Ben were standing, his mouth set in a grim line. Sue grabbed Reed's hand, feeling her husband's mass disappear under her tight grip.

"They're coming out," he reported.

"Why do you look less than thrilled?" Ben questioned.

Jones sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. "His final demand was that Johnny and the bank manager, Jessica Applefeld, travel with them to ensure we don't follow them."

He paused as he heard Sue inhale sharply but refused to meet her harsh glare. "I did what I could but he refused to give in."

The shock finally wore off. "For all you know he could wind up in a ditch forty miles out of town!" Sue shouted, unable to keep back the anger and frustration any longer. This man was keeping her from helping her injured brother!

"Mrs. Richards," Jones reached out peacefully but Sue ripped her arm from his grasp. "We will do our very best to ensure that doesn't happen."

"But you can't promise anything, can you?" she asked, her gaze deadly.

"No," Jones admitted sourly, the word feeling foreign coming from his mouth. "But we've done everything they've asked. They have no reason to escalate their crimes from robbery to murder."

The color drained from Sue's face and Jones winced, realizing too late that that was probably the wrong thing to say.

"I think you should get back to your job now, _Agent_," Reed interjected, wrapping his arm around Sue's shoulder. Jones looked like he was going to say more, but he just nodded and walked toward Captain Malone, who was conversing with Chief Hicks.

Reed had known Sue long enough to see the slight tremble in her taught shoulders and the way she kept fiddling with her pants pocket. To anyone else, she just looked nervous, but Reed knew she was deeply afraid. He led her into a makeshift corner formed by two vehicles parked at perpendicular angles. Ben had noticed the same nervous tendencies in his longtime friend and stood in front of the Richardses to shield them from the prying onlookers, but with his back turned to give them some privacy.

"He'll be alright Sue," Reed said, pulling his wife close.

"How can you be sure?" Sue asked, hating that she sounded all of five years old. Never in her entire life had she felt this helpless in a situation where her brother's safety was on the line. She wanted nothing more than to storm into the bank with Ben and Reed, take out the perps and get Johnny to the hospital. Still, a small part of her recognized that those actions might do more harm than good, which meant she was resigned to hoping that Jones and his team were as good as Hicks said.

"Jones was right. We did everything they've asked for. And look, they released nine out of the original eleven hostages. The odds look very good for Johnny's release as well." Reed offered his wife his most reassuring smile as he gently massaged her shoulder.

"You still have that metal containment unit, right?"

Reed balked momentarily at Sue's non sequitur. "Um…yes, why?"

"When this is all over, we're locking Johnny in there and throwing away the key."

Both Reed and Ben were smart enough to figure out the rest of the sentence: _So we never have to go through this again._

* * *

"It's time," Rusty announced, motioning toward the door with his automatic weapon. "Reuben, Frank, get them up."

Before Johnny had time to brace himself, there were two strong hands on his biceps, pulling him unceremoniously to his feet. The motion jarred his injured shoulder and Johnny groaned, his knees faltering slightly as pain lanced through his system.

The hands immediately released him and he pitched forward. He was caught at the last moment by a rough grip on his collar that whipped his momentum backwards, causing the front of his shirt to sear a deep line into his throat and agony to explode in his upper back. Then his collar was released and an arm looped through the space between his left side and his elbow.

By this time, the earthquake rocking Johnny's vision had passed and he bit his lip, determined to stand by himself. He very carefully arranged his right arm so it wrapped around his torso and pinned it tightly to his ribs with his left hand.

"Not so fast," the fifth man, who was apparently named Reuben, said as Storm attempted to pull away.

They were interrupted by a yelp from the other side of the room.

Johnny concentrated on turning his head ever so slightly and saw Frank roughly hauling the pretty bank manager upright, one hand under her arm, the other grasping her hair. Johnny leaned forward slightly, instinctively wanted to offer aid, but Reuben yanked harshly on his uninjured arm.

"You wouldn't make it ten feet," he muttered, just loud enough for Johnny to hear. Storm scowled, knowing the gunman was right.

"Frank," Rusty warned, shooting the man a knowing look.

The lackey grumbled something under his breath but released his grip on the woman's hair. "Let's just get this over with," he raised his voice in order to be heard by his leader.

"The van's fifteen feet from the front entrance," Linus announced, stepping out of a far office where he had been watching action outside the bank.

"Reuben, you and Storm go first. Frank, you follow with Ms. Applefeld here. Linus, you take a duffel and watch Danny, who'll take a bag too. I'll go last and cover you. Any questions?" Rusty asked, looking around. "No? Good. Let's take a walk."

Linus nodded and swiftly unlocked the thick chain that wrapped around the door handles. He pressed himself against the wall and tentatively pushed open the door. It swung wide then smashed back into the jamb, with no additional commotion.

Linus, who had been prepared for gunshots or an explosion, happily cracked open the door again and shouted, "We're coming out!"

He quickly grabbed the smallest bag and slid his arms into the two straps, wearing it like a knapsack. Reuben made a noise in the back of his throat and Linus immediately turned, grabbing Johnny's uninjured shoulder so Reuben could sling his shotgun onto his back and take the handgun Rusty was holding out. Then Reuben looped his arm through Johnny's again, and jammed the barrel of the handgun into Storm's ribcage. Johnny inhaled sharply as his shoulder jostled uncomfortably and he glared at his captor.

Linus waited until Reuben had a firm grip on Storm before bending down, picking up a second bag, and shoving it into Danny's bound hands. Then he stepped into line behind his old leader.

"Now walk. Nice and slow," Reuben ordered, guiding himself and Storm both toward the door.

Johnny unconsciously held his breath, praying SWAT wasn't planning on shooting the first people out of the bank, as Reuben pushed him through the doorway and into the darkness.

Well, it should have been darkness, but the area had apparently been lit by a series of spotlights. Storm squeezed his eyes closed as his pupils were assaulted by the brightness. Momentarily blinded, he stopped moving, wanting his eyes to adjust before he attempted walking again. He heard a collective gasp then heard someone scream "Johnny!"

"Sue!" he shouted back. His eyes flew open and he whipped his head around, trying to see his sister in the whiteness.

He was in the process of opening his mouth to tell her he'd be fine, to not do anything older-sisterly, when something hard collided with his back, stealing his breath. Stars danced in front of his vision and his knees buckled as pain knifed through his shoulder. He would have fallen flat on his face if not for Reuben's support.

Through the haze, he heard Sue screaming, swearing and crying for them to let him go. Then he was being yanked backwards and pulled tightly against a warm body. His heart skipped a beat as he felt a cool metal circle pressing against his temple.

"We don't want to hurt anyone," Reuben shouted, "but we will if we have to. You all stand back now, put down your weapons and shut the hell up."

The crowd instantly fell silent, the sobs and cries of protests stifled.

"I mean it! Weapons down!" Reuben shouted after a moment, pressing the barrel of his weapon deeper into Johnny's forehead.

There was lots of muffled shifting and Johnny could only assume that it was the SWAT team and the police department carefully placing their weapons on the ground. He was having too much trouble focusing to look up and see.

"That's better." The gun disappeared from Johnny's temple and buried itself against his ribs again. "Walk!" Reuben hissed, pushing Storm forward.

"'m fine," he gasped as he stumbled along, hoping Sue would hear him. In the absolute silence, he was almost positive she would. He'd given this moment a lot of thought as he'd watched everyone else get released. He'd overheard Rusty say he wanted Johnny and Jessica, the manager, to go with them to ensure they weren't followed…If they were planning on killing him, he didn't want his last words to his sister be an argument about how she was having her friends over this weekend, meaning he'd have to watch the X Games on the smaller TV in the garage.

He gathered the saliva in his mouth and raised his voice: "Sorry, Sue…I lov—"

Suddenly his shins collided with a roundish rubbery object and he pitched forward. Knowing he wouldn't be able to put out his hands to brace the fall, he tried to turn his head into his left shoulder to avoid a broken nose and did his best to shift so he would take the impending collision with his uninjured left side.

Despite his best efforts, he landed awkwardly on his front and his head collided with an unforgiving metal object. His vision was bathed in colors and he struggled to remain alert.

Around him, sounds and motions muddled together, confusing his senses. People were clambering over him, one going so far as to roughly kick his long limbs out of the way. Then, he heard more shouting followed by a feminine scream and a harsh clanging.

Seconds later, the van revved to life and peeled away from the curb, leaving his friends, family and the rest of the crowd behind them.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for all your wonderful support! (On a side note, I _finally_ have my computer back!)**

* * *

"Sorry, Sue…I lov—"

Johnny's words rang in Sue's ears as she watched her brother being shoved into the back of the van, disappearing from sight behind the open rear door. Tiny forcefields hummed around her hands as she watched the gunmen push Jessica, the bank manager, in after Johnny, climb into the van themselves and slam the doors. Reed's hand closed over her own, startling her, and she didn't have to look over her shoulder to know he was wearing an equally pained expression.

There were too many variables, too much risk for them to intervene. Anything they tried now had the possibility of injuring one of the many bystanders who refused to leave, or Johnny and Jessica who were in an enclosed space with four armed men.

Suddenly, the van shot forward, crashing through the police barrier and travelling northeast on 2nd Avenue. Just before it disappeared from view, the back door swung open and the bank manager tumbled out, screaming in fear.

Without thinking, Sue released a forcefield that caught the woman and gently lowered her to the ground. SWAT immediately dove into action, helping the frightened bank manager to her feet and escorting her to safety.

"Johnny!" Sue breathed, leaning hard against her husband and praying that her actions hadn't caused her brother any further harm.

"He'll be all right, Sue," Reed stated even though Johnny had looked anything but. The towels stuffed against his shoulder had been almost completely red, sharply contrasting his pale, sweaty skin, and Reed had seen the sheer concentration it had taken for him to walk that short distance. "When they're clear, they'll drop him off and we'll go get him. With his heat signature, he'll be hard to miss."

He felt Sue take a few deep breaths then push away from him. He pretended to ignore her viciously swiping her hands under her eyes. "Let's go see what Jones knows."

They had walked less than two steps when the red-headed FBI agent, Dora, Della, Reed couldn't exactly remember, sprinted in front of them; it was quite a remarkable task given the height of the heels she was wearing. She hopped into the FBI van, which currently contained Jones, the bank manager and a second paramedic, and left the door open so the rest of the Fantastic Four could listen to what she had to say.

"The tracker just activated. We have their location within a 1/8th of a mile."

Jones turned away from the bank manager, who was having her wrists bandaged by the paramedic and focused on Donna. "Where are they headed?"

She shrugged. "Somewhere north."

"Pull it up," Jones ordered, turning back to Ms. Applefeld. "And you're sure you have no idea where they're going?"

"They didn't say," the woman replied softly, tugging a blanket more tightly around her shoulders. "They just pushed me out of the van and told me to tell you they were serious about letting Mr. Storm go."

"Did they mention where?"

"No." The paramedic finished wrapping Jessica's wrists and the manager quickly pulled her arms inside the blanket. She pressed her legs close against her chest and leaned her head against her knees, literally shielding herself from the occupants of the van.

"She's going into shock," the paramedic announced, looking for permission to leave.

Jones nodded sympathetically. "She's free to go. Ms. Applefeld, either Donna or I will be by once you've been cleared to get your official statement."

Jessica didn't even glance up from the blanket, but it moved slightly in what seemed to be a nod of agreement. The paramedic carefully helped her straighten up and invoked SWAT's help to move her from the command vehicle to the ambulance without additional press.

"We've got it," Donna announced, pressing a few buttons so the contents of her screen were mirrored on the van's main plasma. A blue dot which represented the tracker the FBI had installed under the rear bumper of the van was dancing around on a traffic grid. It zigged and zagged between lanes and streets, sometimes even turning back on itself and retracing its previous path.

Jones squinted at the screen. "They have to suspect the car is being tracked, so they'll be looking to get rid of it. We have two options: they either have one waiting, as per their original plan, or they're going to steal one. Donna, let's start putting together a list of places that are still open or have cars that are easily accessible—"

"24-hour parking garages, empty lots, valet parking, I know," Donna began typing furiously on her keyboard.

"Unless they get desperate, we'll be able to eliminate ones with lots of cameras: businesses with outdoor seating, banks or other federal buildings, et cetera," Jones continued. "Let's say a two-mile radius from their current position. Coordinate with Malone and Hicks. See if they have any suggestions. Get the paramedics on standby in case they leave Storm at the swap."

"Got it, boss."

Jones stood. "We could really use your help narrowing down places," he said to the Four, having heard about the genius of Reed Richards and Susan Storm long before they had become superheroes.

Sue looked like she wanted to object, in favor of something more hands-on, but Reed cut in. "We'll get right on it."

"I'm going to get a sit-rep from Malone," Jones announced as he exited the van. "I'll let you know if his team finds any leads."

* * *

Johnny was floating in a state of semi-consciousness, unable to see or move but still cognizant enough to know he was partially awake. His senses waxed and waned but he was currently able to feel the van turning beneath him. His addled brain didn't realize what that meant until the momentum sent him rolling across the floor and crashing into the back doors of the van.

Now fully awake, Johnny positioned his feet against the back door and straightened his knees until his hips brushed the back row of seats, wedging himself firmly in place. It was a good thing he did, for the van continued to make turns at breakneck speeds.

It was during this time that Johnny realized that whoever had tied his hands had done it rather loosely, since his wrists slid slightly apart whenever the van hit a bump in the road. Keeping the right side of his body as still as possible, he tugged with all his strength, vainly trying to pull his left wrist through the plastic tie. After a long minute, he realized it was of no use. He swore and kicked weakly at the doors of the van.

A masked head appeared over the back row of seats, followed by a shotgun, which was aimed directly at Johnny's face.

"Keep going," the man taunted, waving his gun back and forth menacingly. "See what happens."

Johnny shot the man his deadliest glare but lay still.

"I thought so," the man said after a moment before vanishing from Johnny's field of vision.

Storm exhaled slowly and tried to think of another plan. He knew he didn't stand a chance of escaping four men armed with shotguns so he decided to try to keep track of where they were going. That idea lasted about thirty seconds, which was when he realized he had no idea how long they had been driving. In addition, his skull was playing host to a death metal band and his shoulder was throbbing in time with the bass, which quickly eliminated any plans involving intense concentration.

Suddenly, the van screeched to a stop and its occupants shot into motion. Seconds later, the rear doors opened and Johnny was grabbed by his ankles and dragged backwards. When he was mostly out of the van, someone laced his arm through Johnny's and hauled the injured superhero to his feet. As his vision slowly righted, Johnny realized they were in a parking garage.

"Everyone out! Everyone out!"

Johnny unwillingly lurched forward as the man supporting him sprinted away from the van. He heard splashing behind him and the thick but familiar scent of gasoline filled his nostrils.

"Light it!"

Johnny was concentrating too hard on putting one foot in front of the other to look over his shoulder but, if he had to guess, the van was probably on fire.

Suddenly, the man holding him—he thought it was the heavier-set Frank but it was hard to tell with his vision blurring like it was—stopped. He stumbled forward another step, barely managing to maintain his balance.

"Is there room?" someone asked as one of the men popped the lid on a whitish blob and began throwing multicolored objects out of it.

It took Johnny a moment to realize that the whitish blob was a car and that the man was emptying its trunk. Knowing what was going to happen next, he dug his heels into the ground, trying to keep himself from being propelled forward. His plan was short-lived when hands connected with his back, one dangerously close to his injured shoulder. His entire body seized and the men took this opportunity to shove him into the open trunk.

Johnny tumbled inside the small space, hissing as his shoulder slammed into the covered bottom. Pain exploded in his scapula, traveling down his spine and setting each of his bones on fire. His vision darkened but he weakly fought against the hands now trying to shove his long limbs into the trunk. One of the men had the gall to snicker before easily lifting Johnny's legs into the trunk and slamming down the top.

They were on the move again within seconds but Johnny was barely coherent enough to stay awake, let alone figure out how long they had traveled or what direction they were headed in. Suddenly, the car hit a bump, sending its back half into the air and Johnny flying into the top of the trunk. The new contact was all his battered body could take and his world faded into blackness.

* * *

"Where are we at?" Sue demanded, walking for the umpteenth time past the open driver's door, where Reed was sitting, his thumbs flying over his smart phone.

"H.E.R.B.I.E. is isolating the top five locations as we speak," Reed reported without glancing up.

Sue immediately stopped pacing and leaned into the car. Her husband continued to tap away furiously for another moment before announcing, "Done."

Ben, who had been sitting in the backseat, immediately leaned forward and scowled at the small screen that was split into two halves. The left had a series of audio tracks that were being evaluated, judging by the red lines dancing over them. The right was a map with five red dots pulsing over different locations around the city. He knew the panel on the right was what Jones had asked for, but was unsure about the left. "What's all that?" he asked, pointing.

"H.E.R.B.I.E.'s monitoring all 911 calls and communications over the police scanner. If anything with benchmarks related to Johnny or the robbery pops, he'll forward it to Sue," Reed explained. Ben nodded, impressed.

"So what did H.E.R.B.I.E. think the most likely places were?" Sue asked, also squinting at the small screen.

Reed swiped his hand across his phone, minimizing the left side and zooming in on the right. "Like you mentioned," he motioned to his wife, "we'd be doing too much work trying to refactor the algorithm every time the car moves, so I expanded the radius to four miles from the last position and located all places they could switch vehicles. H.E.R.B.I.E. focused on establishments that have a known night crowds or parking garages that are still open after five. From those, he has selected the five most likely places based on relative isolation and ease of access." With the additional zoom, they were able to see H.E.R.B.I.E. had picked one bar, two parking garages, one 24-hour pawn shop, and a baseball field.

"I hate to be the one to say it but what if they take Johnny with them?" Ben questioned.

"I've been thinking about that, too," Sue said quietly. She swallowed hard before continuing. "The only way I can think of tracking them is through Johnny's heat signature, but if we scan for objects around 209 degrees, we're going to get a lot of false positives."

"No," Reed sat upright and waved his hand. "Well, yes, we would. But we can combine that with a bit of image recognition software that eliminates any shapes that are too small or large to be Johnny."

"Reed, that work isn't finished."

"It's not very good at differentiating between the close measurements but we can use it to eliminate the extremes. Then we'll go through the others by hand so we don't miss him."

Hope swelled in Sue's chest for the first time in the last few hours. "While you get started on that, Ben, would you mind showing Jones H.E.R.B.I.E.'s results and see if he wants us to check out one of the locations?"

"On my way," Grimm responded immediately, knowing Suzie wanted to avoid as much contact with the FBI agent as possible.

"I'll see if Captain Malone found anything in the bank that we can use to fine-tune the list. If not, Reed and I can finish up that algorithm."

As she and Ben headed toward the bank, leaving Reed to dust off the tracking algorithm he had programmed back at MIT, Sue's phone chirped.

She hurriedly yanked it out of her pocket and stared at the text on screen. "There's a car fire in Donaldson Family Parking. Definitely a van. Light-colored. Probably white." Sue paused as she noticed the location. "In one of the one garages H.E.R.B.I.E. picked," she added with a note of wonder. Even after all these years, the accuracy of Reed's work still managed to astound her.

She texted the newsflash to her husband and picked up the pace. She slipped past the guard who tried to insist that she couldn't enter the crime scene, burst through the swinging doors of the bank, and immediately froze. Ben, who had been following her at a close pace, just barely avoided running into her.

"Sue, what…" he trailed off as he saw the CSI team taping off the area around a decently-sized bloodstain. Ben immediately stepped in front of Sue, placing his broad mass in her line of sight. "I'll talk to Malone. Go find Donna and she'll call Jones for you."

"No," Sue replied in a detached tone. "I can do this."

"But you don't have to. C'mon Suzie," Ben gently laid his hand on her shoulder and attempted to turn her around. "Let's wait outside."

She stuttered into motion, shaking her head wildly as she tried to step around Ben. "I can't. Johnny needs our help. We have to tell Jones."

"Tell Jones what?" the FBI agent said from beside Ben. The Thing glanced quickly over his shoulder in the direction of the bloodstain then fixed Jones with a pointed stare.

The agent realized what Ben was hinting at and stepped closer to the entrance. "There's a car fire—" Sue began hurriedly, doing her best to shove the image of her brother's blood out of her brain.

"This is an active crime scene, Mrs. Richards. Let's discuss this outside," Jones interjected kindly, motioning toward the door.

Sue nodded gratefully and hurried out of the bank while Ben went to talk with Captain Malone. Once outside, Sue showed Jones the five most likely locations, just in case, as well as the transcript of the 911 call made by the woman who identified herself as the parking attendant.

Just as Jones had finished reading the text for a second time, he heard someone calling his name. He and Sue looked up to see Donna poking her head out of the command vehicle. "There's a van fire in—"

"Donaldson Parking," Jones finished, walking over to meet his assistant, Sue's phone still in hand.

Donna stared at him. "How did you—"

Jones answered by motioning in Sue's direction.

"Get in touch with the LEOs," he ordered. "The scene is related to the bank robbery so it's our jurisdiction. Also get NYFD there STAT. We need to get this fire put out before it destroys all the evidence. We're also going to need a CSI team on the scene yesterday. Anything they find is valuable to Storm's location. Finally, we're going to be forwarding you four other locations. Have Hicks' men sit on them, just in case this car fire is a dead end."

"On it," Donna affirmed, sitting back down and dialing a number.

Jones turned to the Four. "Well, _I _want to check out the scene and don't have a car..."

"I'll drive," Ben said, pulling the keys to his reinforced car from his pocket.

* * *

The first thing Johnny realized when he came to was that he was in an unusually small space and he instinctively threw out both hands to get a better idea of its dimensions. He cried out as he lifted his right arm off the ground and shooting pain erupted in his shoulder. His chest heaved and he focused on not retching in what he now remembered to be a car trunk.

He needed to calm down. _Focus on breathing, _his brain offered helpfully. Okay, he could do that.

_Inhale._ A short blast so as not to jar his shoulder.

_Exhale._ Even shorter, more like a pant.

His entire body was tauter than a guitar string so he tried to relax his legs and neck, disregarding how odd that seemed in his current situation. Long minutes passed before his breathing returned to normal. Finally, he lifted a heavy eyelid and assessed his prison.

Yup, a car trunk. Just as he had remembered.

He gingerly lifted his leg and pushed against the car hood, close to where the external release was, and cursed softly when it refused to move.

Sighing heavily, he rested the back of his pounding head against the floor and scanned the space around him. A faint greenish glow caught his attention and his heart leapt when his gaze landed on the standard-issue emergency release tab built into the underside of the trunk's lid. Assuming the robbers hadn't disabled it, he could get out!

But did he want to? What if the men were still out there? As already proven earlier today, he wasn't bulletproof.

Johnny listened intently, unable to hear any noise outside of the car. He had no idea how long he had been in there and no idea where his abductors were. His shoulder flared again and he realized he didn't have the luxury of waiting any longer.

Johnny reached for the release with his left arm before realizing his hands were still bound together. He gritted his teeth and focused intently on his wrists, heating up just his hands to melt the plastic tie. He wasn't sure if the men were still out there and he didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself by flaming on fully. He'd wait until he was out of the trunk, when the men would have no time to arm themselves in advance, before attempting that.

Sweat dripped into his eyes with the effort and he ground his teeth together as the plastic began to liquidate. As soon as it looked unstable, he immediately flamed off and pulled his left wrist away. In that same motion, he reached for the roof of the trunk, wrapped his fingers around the cool plastic tab and yanked on it with all his remaining strength.

The trunk popped open and Johnny squinted as bright, fluorescent light filtered into the once dark area. He tucked his right arm against his chest and used his left to drag himself over the protruding metal ledge and out of the trunk. He dropped into an unceremonious heap on the ground, managing to keep his torso from colliding with the concrete.

His entire body was tensed, ready to flame on at the slightest movement, but there was only silence. He quickly scanned what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse and corroborated that no one was there.

His awareness was fading fast and he fleetingly thought that, if he flamed on, he could draw additional energy from his powers as he had on many other occasions. He was heating up from his core before he remembered the bullet still lodged his shoulder. A cry tore through his lips as agony ripped through his upper body with breathtaking force. He curled onto his side, his eyes screwed closed as he rode out the unending wave of pain.

"Heyyyy," he vaguely heard someone drawl but he couldn't focus on anything other than the multicolored spots flashing on the backs of his eyelids.

"You okay, brah?" There was pressure on his uninjured shoulder and he felt himself being rolled onto his back. "Dude, you're bleedin'."

Johnny cracked one eye open to see a blurry figure staring down at him, with what looked like a cigarette dangling from his mouth. It took a second for the smell to reach Johnny and another few for his lethargic brain to realize the figure wasn't smoking a normal cigarette.

Still, it was his only chance.

"Call…Fantastic…Four," Johnny rasped, praying with his last conscious thought that the man was lucid enough to do so.


	9. Chapter 9

Ben Grimm was bored. Actually, no, bored was where he was two hours ago. Now, he was downright impatient.

He shifted in the reinforced chair the hospital had brought in, crossed his thick arms over his chest and he stared at the man in the hospital bed next to him.

Johnny had been brought in almost a day ago, after the emergency response team received an anonymous call from the loading district. They'd arrived on scene to find Johnny unconscious but with a stranger's windbreaker wrapped tightly around his shoulder. He'd been rushed into surgery and the operating team had been able to remove the bullet in his shoulder without much issue.

Upon seeing the incredibly odd shape of the bullet, the lead surgeon concluded that Johnny had flamed on at one point in time. She wasn't aware of any additional damage caused by the extreme heat, but she and the rest of the staff would be closely monitoring him until they were sure none of the bullet fragments had leeched into Johnny's bloodstream and that there was no lasting damage from his prolonged exposure to the fire retardant.

So far, there hadn't been any signs of either scenario and his attending physician was now cautiously optimistic that Johnny would make a full recovery.

Sue had been a fixture by his bedside the entire time, refusing to leave even when visiting hours were over. The hospital had made an exception, given the fact that the criminals were still on the loose, and allowed the team to stay the night. Earlier this afternoon, however, Reed had finally convinced her to go home for a quick shower and meal that hadn't been microwaved. After making Ben promise he wasn't going anywhere, she reluctantly agreed.

That had been two hours ago. Apparently Reed had also been able to convince Sue that some sleep not gotten in a plastic chair was also a good idea. Good for him: Suzie needed it.

The soft beeps from Johnny's heart monitor picked up in intensity, drawing Ben from his reverie. Since this happened any time Johnny shifted positions, Ben wasn't terribly concerned as he glanced down at the bed. When he saw his friend flailing wildly and muttering incomprehensively under his breath, he hurried to extract himself from the chair.

"It's okay, Johnny," Ben began in what he hoped was a calming voice. "You're only dreamin'. You're in the hospital."

But his words went unheeded. The thrashing became more violent and Ben was forced to place one hand on Johnny's uninjured shoulder and the second on his right hip in an attempt to keep the Torch still. Thankfully, the sling his right arm was resting in was doing its job and was keeping his shoulder relatively immobile.

"Hey, Matchstick!" he shouted once he realized being subtle wasn't working. "You're safe now! Just take it easy."

Just then, the door flew open and a frantic Sue burst in. She took one look at the monitors and raced toward her brother.

In the fraction of the time it took her to cross the room, Ben happened to glance down at Johnny, noticing for the first time the smoke rising from the supposedly fireproof sheets; through his thick skin, he hadn't even felt the increase in temperature.

"Don't Suzie!" he called, but it was too late. Sue had already placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder, her concern for her brother blocking out everything else in the room. She yelped in pain as her hand connected with scorching skin.

"He's burning up!" she exclaimed, cradling her injured hand to her chest.

"Where's the damn nurse?" Ben growled, loosening his hold as the bucking slowed but didn't stop.

"I know you can hear me, Johnny," Sue began as she hurried to disconnect the various monitoring leads, worried about what would happen if her brother flamed on while attached to all the equipment.

"You're in the hospital. You're safe. You don't have to fight." She was careful to keep from touching Johnny's skin as he continued to fight against an unseen opponent.

"Ben's here. I'm here. You can relax," Sue continued as she moved to pull out the IV catheter. Unfortunately, Johnny jerked at that same moment and blood immediately welled from the slightly ripped gash in the crook of his elbow. Knowing there was nothing she could do about it until he cooled down, she raised her voice, in hopes he would finally hear her. "You're not going to do yourself any favors by flaming on, okay? There's no one you need to fight. We'll take care of that for you. All you have to do is calm down before you hurt yourself even further."

Johnny thrashed one more time before lying still. "Sue?" he croaked, his eyes still closed. Sweat dripped down his face, causing his long eyelashes to clump together, and his cheeks were flush with exertion.

"Oh thank god," Sue sank back into the chair beside her brother's bed. She was able to feel the heat rolling off him even from that distance. "Johnny," she sighed in relief.

"It's good to have you back, Matchstick," Ben agreed as he released his friend.

"Ben," Johnny rasped, his upper body slacking into the mattress.

"How are you feeling?" Sue immediately asked, trying to keep her brother from drifting back to sleep.

Johnny was quiet for a long moment before grunting, "Been…better." Then he sluggishly lifted one eyelid, revealing a hazy blue iris. "We…get…'em?"

"Let's not worry about that right now," Sue placated, hurriedly changing the subject. "Are you hurting?" she asked, the tension in his face not escaping her experienced eye.

"Nah." The fingers on his right hand twitched in what was most likely a dismissive wave.

"You'd think the nurse would—oh," she trailed off as a nurse they'd never seen before appeared in the doorway.

"I just received word that the monitors had been going off," she announced. Without any additional introduction, she walked toward the bed and began examining the last readings. She tapped the screen a few times and, when the data didn't change, she frowned. "It says he reached almost 250 degrees. That's high, even for him, correct?"

Sue nodded. "His temperature is normally 209."

It was a testament to Johnny's current condition that he didn't even interject about not being asked the question directly.

"Well, it seems like he's cooling down now," the nurse stated, pointing to the sheets which were no longer smoking and to the digital AC gauge in the corner, whose numbers were rapidly falling.

She spotted the blood trailing from her patient's elbow and held a hand over Johnny's upper body in the same way one would hold their hand over a pot of water to check if it was boiling or not. She cautiously moved her hand closer and closer until she was able to touch his skin. Then she pulled a cotton ball and self-adhering tape from a set of drawers and bandaged the needle stick.

"How are we feeling, Mr. Storm? Are you in any pain?" she asked as she clamped off the existing IV, replaced the tubing, then examined Johnny's arm for another viable vein. Finding one in the back of his hand, she deftly reinserted the IV, pulled out the needle and taped gauze over the entrance.

"No," Johnny replied after a long moment.

"That's good to hear." The nurse readjusted on the strap of the sling, sliding his arm into a more relaxed position and apologizing slightly when she saw him wince. Finally, she performed a quick physical examination of his shoulder to make sure the stitches were still intact. "Everything looks great," she said, pulling a pen from her hip pocket and scribbling in his chart. "I'll go get Dr. Kline."

"We'd appreciate it," Sue replied honestly. "And thank you."

After she left, the room fell silent. Johnny's gaze slowly travelled from Ben, who was sitting on his left, to Sue, who was unconsciously holding her injured hand close to her torso.

"Wha' happ'n'd?" he asked, pointing with his left index finger.

"It's nothing," Sue quickly shoved her hand into her lap, out of his line of sight. "You still doing alright?"

"Can't feel…much of anything…"

"Those are the drugs talking," Ben tilted his head toward the bag of narcotics hanging from the IV pole.

"Yay," Johnny rasped. "Cos gettin' shot…hurts."

It was meant to be a lighthearted quip but all the color drained out of Sue's face. She'd done her best to be stoic, to keep her emotions in check, but hearing her brother talk so candidly about what had just happened was too much for the worried sister to tolerate.

"Of course it hurts! I don't know how you can joke about that!" Sue found herself saying, the words rushing out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Johnny's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. Even in his drug-induced fog, he should have noticed Sue's guarded expression, the one that made her look like she had it all together, even though she was really feeling quite the opposite. Judging by the concern now plastered openly on her face, she blamed herself for what happened and would continue to do so unless Johnny could snap her out of it.

"Sue, I—" he struggled to sit up slightly but was stopped by a rocky hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"It was a simple job—take the check to the bank," Sue continued as if he hadn't spoken. "You never do anything halfway, do you? First the pain in your side when you were seven that ended up being a ruptured appendix, then fracturing both arms snowboarding in junior high—"

"Don't forget...my first bicycle crash," Johnny interrupted, still hoping to derail the rest of Sue's tangent.

She glared at him. "This isn't funny Johnny." She paused and pressed the fingers of her left hand against the spot between her eyebrows. Johnny saw her shoulders hitch slightly and reached for his sister.

"Hey," he said, tugging softly on the cuff of her denim jacket, the only thing he could grasp without rolling onto his side. "If it makes you feel better...I didn't _want..._any of those things to happ'n."

"It doesn't matter! You got _shot_!" Sue stood up so quickly that her chair skidded backwards on the tile. "They wouldn't tell me anything—not even that you had a negative reaction to the fire retardant. I had to find out secondhand." She fell silent for a quick second.

"You got shot and I couldn't do anything about it," she added in a whisper. "I couldn't get mom and dad to drive you to the ER, I couldn't run my fingers through your hair and tell you that the ski slope rescue crew was on their way, I couldn't hold you like I did after mom…" She bit down hard on her lower lip in an attempt to hold herself together.

"Oh Sue," Johnny's outstretched hand dropped back onto his bed. "I'm so sorry." He knew the words sounded trite but there honestly weren't any others he could think of that expressed how he felt. Their roles had been reversed after the incident with the cosmic cloud when he'd woken long before her and had been forced to sit there, hoping she'd be all right. It was not an experience he had enjoyed.

"Here...Come sit back down," he reached out his hand again, his expression begging her to take it. "I'm okay, Sue, I promise. Just…don't go."

Sue took a shaky breath, allowing her brain to finally catch up with her mouth. She glanced up, saw the panicked look on Johnny's face and winced with the realization that she had just yelled at her injured brother, who had still been unconscious only a few minutes ago. Suddenly, it was too much for her to take in.

"I, uh, I need a minute," she mumbled, rubbing at her forehead as she hurried toward the door. "Please don't leave him by himself," she added in Ben's general direction before she stepped into the hallway.

"Wait, Sue!" Johnny called, trying his best to level himself upright but his body refused to accommodate his brain's wishes. Still lying flat on his back, he watched helplessly as the door clicked closed behind his sister.

Uneasy silence descended on the hospital room, punctured only by the persistent beat of the heart monitor.

"You know how she is, Johnny," Ben ventured after a moment. "She'll be back soon."

"What happened to her hand?" Johnny rasped emotionlessly, tearing his eyes away from the doorway when Ben didn't answer immediately.

"What. Happened." he repeated, this time a little more forcefully.

"When you woke up, you didn't exactly know where you were," Ben began, trailing off and staring pointedly at the singed sheets.

He heard Johnny inhale sharply and knew that the younger Storm understood.

"You have to go after her, Ben. She needs to get that looked at." Deep concentration was etched on Johnny's face as he tried again to sit up. He scowled when his body refused. "She shouldn't be alone," he muttered, more to himself than to Ben.

"She's not alone, Johnny. She just doesn't want you to see how much this whole thing upset her."

"Yeah, I know. She's never been one for showing much emotion even when..." Johnny swallowed hard, unable to get the rest of his sentence out.

"Um," he cleared his throat and blinked hard. "Can you text her for me—she's not going to answer your phone call. Tell her I'm sorry. And ask her to come back…please?" Johnny added with what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

"Sure, kid," Ben agreed, pulling his special-issue phone from his pocket. "You know Suzie knows you never would have done it on purpose," he stated as he tapped out the message.

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Johnny looked at Ben, his gaze deadly serious. "It still happened."

"And it will be taken care of. Look, after the doc checks you out, you can sic him on Suzie. If he's too busy solving the world's problems, we'll keep at it until we find someone that will."

"Thanks," Johnny said softly as he slouched back into the pillows, wincing as his shoulder connected with the soft fabric.

"Don't mention it." Ben slid his phone back into his pocket and resigned himself to keeping watch while the Torch stared fixedly at the clock, wondering when his sister would be back.

* * *

Sue burst out of the hospital room, her head buried in her hands. Tears welled up in her eyes, a mix of relief that Johnny was awake, frustration with how long it had taken to get him to safety, and fear that the men would come after her brother again.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't even realize she had crashed into someone…someone who moved beyond the capacity of the human body so as to absorb the force of the collision.

"Sue?" she heard her husband ask softly. "What's wrong? How's Johnny?"

She threw her arms around Reed and buried her head into his shoulder. "He woke up," she sobbed.

"Sue, I don't understand," Reed admitted as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "That's good news."

"I know it is," she pulled in a shaky breath. "It's just seeing him like that…he's got a hole in his shoulder, Reed! And I just…I wasn't there for him. He needed me and I wasn't there. I couldn't help him," she whispered. She felt Reed's hands in her hair, tucking it behind her ears.

"Sue, you can't blame yourself!" Reed's hand came to rest under her chin, tilting her head so she could see his face. "There's nothing more you could have done."

"Is that supposed to make it easier? I'm supposed to look after him, Reed! I'm all he has left!"

He bit back the urge to correct her, having felt just as helpless watching the events of the last day play out. From the permanent frown on Ben's face, it was clear the Thing had felt the same way. "Sue, we started the fund that raised enough money to get some of the hostages released. That officer trusted _you_ enough to borrow the rest of the ransom from evidence. As much as we wanted to, we couldn't have _done _any more than that, without jeopardizing more lives."

"But it didn't help Johnny. If only we could have gotten it all together a little sooner…"

"You can't think like that Sue. You'll drive yourself mad. You just have to concentrate on the fact that he's safe now, and in pretty good shape considering." He pulled her into a tighter hug, feeling a soft tremor run through her upper body.

He held her until her breathing slowed and her shoulders stopped shaking. Finally, she pulled away and wiped the tears from her face.

"Sue! What happened?" Reed exclaimed when he caught sight of her injured hand.

"It was an accident," Sue intoned dully. "He didn't realize where he was. He thought he was being attacked by _them_. I wanted to calm him down…I didn't even realize he was burning that hot."

Reed took her hand in his and carefully examined her red, inflamed palm. "Oh Sue."

"He was more worried about me during my breakdown than about himself," she recounted with a choked laugh, pulling her hand out of her husband's grasp. "Ben's probably told him what happened by now—"

"Forget about Johnny for a second. Even though he didn't mean it, this burn is serious. You need to get it looked at right away."

"I know," Sue admitted. "It's just…after what I said to him…" she paused and took a deep breath, straightened her outfit and pushed her hair out of her face. "I just needed a minute. I'm okay. I promise."

"It's okay to not be okay, Sue," Reed said quietly, putting his hands on her shoulders. "After what happened yesterday, you deserve a few moments to yourself, to sort through things."

Sue glanced up at her husband and smiled softly. "I've had plenty of time to do that. All I want now is for this whole thing to be over."

"Well then," Reed began walking toward a nurse's station. "Let's go get your hand bandaged before Johnny tears out his stitches trying to see where you went."

"He wouldn't dare," Sue retorted but she picked up her pace all the same as she recognized the truth in her husband's words.

* * *

**A/N: Please don't equate showing emotion with weakness. Sue is still an incredibly strong character who just reached her limit after everything that has happened. **

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I haven't been able to log on to FFN the last few days.**

* * *

"Johnny Storm?" an unfamiliar voice asked, a few minutes after Sue had left.

The Torch glanced up from a riveting swirl in his bed sheet to see a dark-haired man standing in the doorway, paging through a thick folder. "That's me."

"Hello again, Mr. Grimm," the dark-haired man added, glancing up from the file and tipping his head in Ben's direction. "Mr. Storm, my name is Dr. Kline and I'll be your attending for the time being." He looked at the file one more time before sliding under his arm.

"Before we begin, I have to ask: I know Mr. Grimm is a close friend but—"

"He can stay," Johnny interrupted, knowing there was no way he could convince Ben to leave.

"Alright," the doctor nodded. He proceeded to ask Johnny a series of background questions: what was his name, his birthday, et cetera. After Johnny had answered all of them, Dr. Kline led him through a quick concussion test, which included having a bright light shined in his eyes; following Dr. Kline's finger up, down, left and right without moving his head; straightening his left arm at shoulder height and resisting Dr. Kline pushing it toward the ground; swallowing an ice chip; raising his eyebrows; smiling then frowning; and finally sticking out his tongue. Dr. Kline noted each result in his file.

"You're not exhibiting any signs of concussion but we'll have you do that at least twice more during your stay here, just in case," the doctor reported as he slid Johnny's file into the holder at the foot of the bed. "Now, let's get to the part you really care about: you were brought in twenty-three hours ago by ambulance and were immediately taken into surgery for the gunshot wound to your right shoulder. The bullet entered between your clavicle, your first rib, and your coracoid process." Dr. Kline motioned to the area on his own shoulder. "It passed straight through your upper pectoralis muscle, before clipping your scapula and coming to rest entirely." He twisted slightly and motioned to a spot on his upper back, the place the bullet would have exited had it not smashed into bone. "Your surgeon will be stopping by with the exact details but she was successfully able to remove the bullet and a few small bone fragments." Dr. Kline walked over to the other side of the bed and carefully lifted the bandages. "The incision is healing nicely. Any questions so far?"

Both Johnny and Ben shook their heads.

"Okay then. On to your prognosis and upcoming care: you'll need to stay here for at least another day, maybe two. When you flamed on, you deformed the bullet slightly. We don't think this is anything to be worried about, judging by your vitals for the last day, but we want you here just in case it develops into something more serious. We also need to watch the incision and make sure you're not suffering any lasting effects from your prolonged encounter with the fire retardant.

"There isn't much we can do about your scapula, unfortunately. We just have to keep it immobile and let it heal on its own time. Coincidentally, this is the same treatment, just shortened, for a gunshot wound in that location. So, besides the pain meds you'll be on for the next week or so, you'll be wearing that sling for the next four to six. From your previous medical history, I can see you are rather active. If you can't manage to wear this simple sling, I have no problem issuing a Donjoy UltraSling."

He pulled out his phone, navigated to the Internet and then flipped his phone around so Johnny could see the bulky sling. A thick foam rectangle was nestled between the wearer's arm and ribcage to absorb all impact and a second strap, which held the foam in place, wrapped around the wearer's waist.

The sight of it made the Torch cringe. "The regular sling'll be fine."

"That's what most of my patients say," Dr. Kline reported with a grin. "You'll also need physical therapy to keep up your range of motion. You should start that within the next week." He paused and took a deep breath. "And that is officially the end of my spiel. Do you have any questions about anything I just told you?"

"No," replied Johnny. "Don't aggravate the injury, wear the sling, go to physical therapy."

Dr. Kline snorted. "That about sums it up. Kristina, one of your nurses, will get you in a few hours for another set of X-rays—we need to make sure that scapula is in check. Until then, I'd get some rest. Your body has been through a huge trauma."

"I'll make sure he does," Ben intervened, doubting Johnny would argue with the doctor but not putting it past his hot-headed teammate.

"Excellent. I'll see you in a few hours, then," Dr. Kline said as he headed for the door.

"Um, Dr. Kline?" Johnny spoke up. The dark-haired man stopped in the doorway and turned back to face his patient. "My sister, she, uh, burned her hand," Johnny said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. He'd seen the doctor's familiarity with Ben and was banking on the fact that he had been introduced to Sue while he had been unconscious. "If you run into her, could you take a look at it? She won't come to you by herself."

"I will," Dr. Kline promised before closing the door behind him.

"You should go buy a lottery ticket, Matchstick," Ben commented as he picked up a gossip magazine that had been left in the room. "Shot like that's pretty lucky."

"Doesn't feel so lucky," Johnny returned, wincing as he shifted positions. "Did you hear back from her?"

Knowing Johnny was referring to Sue, Ben pulled his phone from his pocket. "Not yet but she's probably gettin' her hand bandaged. I wouldn't worry just yet."

"You wouldn't want to go check on her, would you?" Johnny asked hopefully.

Ben sighed and put down the magazine. "I could but that means I'd have to leave you alone. Which isn't going to happen, considering the men that did this to you haven't been caught yet."

"They haven't been caught yet?" Johnny repeated, straightening up as much as possible.

Ben winced. "I wasn't supposed to tell ya that. Sue asked me not to."

"Sue doesn't have to know. What else has been going on?" Johnny asked, his eyes wide with interest.

"You're supposed to be resting."

"How can I rest when I don't know what's been happening?! Do they have any leads?"

"Chief Hicks was hopin' you had some new information—everything they have so far is a dead end."

"Did they talk to guy in the cargo pants? His name was Colin. He said his father was a detective so he probably picked up on things the others didn't."

"They did. It wasn't enough to ID any of the men though."

"So what are they working on, now?"

"Nope," Ben picked up the magazine again and turned the page. "Not until you've rested. Doctor's orders."

"But—"

"When you get your M.D., it can be up for debate," Ben interjected gruffly. "Until then, you'll do as Dr. Kline says."

As much as Johnny didn't want to admit it, his body was rapidly losing the fight to remain awake.

"Fine," he reluctantly agreed, resting his head against a rock-like pillow. "But then you catch me up to speed."

"Promise," Ben agreed. He continued to flip through the magazine as the beeping of the heart monitor slowed and his teammate relaxed into some much needed sleep.

* * *

Special Agent Tom Jones was going on his sixth scrambled hour of listening to old interrogation tapes, straining to hear the accents, the hesitations, the pauses and the timbre of each individual's voice, then comparing it to the ones he had heard over the hostage call to see if any matched. He had heard two voices, one slower and steadier and the second more animated and abrupt. So far, none of the snippets he had listened to were anything close to either of those.

Luckily, he wasn't even listening to the entirety of the NYPD's database. An algorithm he didn't even begin to understand was weeding out a majority of the voices. He was only listening to the ones it identified as a "match" or those that confused it too much to make a definitive conclusion.

As a new interrogation video appeared on screen, Jones slid the noise-cancelling headphones around his neck and paused the footage, noting the date and time of the latest recording. Then he leaned back in his chair, linked his hands behind his head and sighed heavily, letting the ambience of the precinct wash over him.

It had been too much of a hassle for Chief Hicks and his team to phone Jones whenever the algorithm produced a "match" so Jones had been invited to listen to the interviews in a spare office at the NYPD. Not wanting to stir up any of the bad blood between the LEOs and the Feds, Jones had dutifully stationed himself in an office branching off from the bullpen and begun listening. Over the past few hours, he had eliminated a slew of suspects either because their physical description didn't match the amalgamation of the witness' statements or because their voices were too different from what he had heard. While he waited for the algorithm to produce another interrogation, Jones had been fielding calls from Donna and keeping up to date with his team, who was creating APBs, canvassing the area around the bank, and flagging the serial numbers on the ransom money from the news station. He had also kept in touch with the forensic unit, who was stripping down the Chevy Impala the criminals had stolen from the parking garage.

Jones glanced up at his phone and realized he hadn't spoken to Chief Hicks in over four hours. That combined with the lack of action in the bullpen suggested the NYPD was running into as many dead ends as his team was. Regardless, it was time for an update.

He exhaled loudly and straightened up, removing the headphones before he strangled himself while attempting to stand. He interlaced his fingers, reached up toward the ceiling, then bent in half, feeling the vertebra in his lower spine realign. Considerably more comfortable, he crossed the relatively silent bullpen and knocked on Captain Hicks's door.

"Come on," a gruff voice boomed. "Oh, it's you," he added unhappily when Jones had entered.

"Hello, Chief Hi—"

"You find a match?"

"Not yet, but I—"

"Well then, I really don't have time for this, _Agent_," Chief Hicks returned to flipping through the thick file on his desk. It wasn't anything against Jones personally but he'd been involved with the FBI enough to know that the moment they had any viable leads, the Feds would take over, and the NYPDs involvement would be minimized to the point of non-existence.

Jones had been reading Hicks' posture and body language and concluded that the LEOs didn't have any leads either. As much as he hated to admit it, they weren't getting anywhere by dividing up the case. "I'm not overly fond of this either," he said hurriedly, before he could change his mind, "but I love my job and I don't see myself having it much longer if we can't figure out who robbed that bank and shot Johnny Storm in the process."

Hicks, who had been feeling enormous pressure from his superiors to get this case solved as quickly as possible, slowly put down the file and stared at Jones over the tops of his reading glasses. "What did you have in mind?"

"My men are following the money and handling everything related to the bank, yours are handling the identification of the men and the parking garage and warehouse scenes, and we've gotten nowhere. What if we were to build a task force, just for this case? Both departments work on all parts, full access on both sides."

Hicks stared at Jones, his face contorting into a deep scowl. As much as he hated to admit it, after a full day of investigation, neither department had any real leads. He considered Jones' offer for a long moment, finally deciding it couldn't hurt to have fresh set of eyes looking at the evidence from a different perspective. At this point, his pension was worth the slightly-bruised ego.

"Okay." He hoisted himself into a standing position and grabbed his jacket which was draped over the back of his chair. "The hospital called a few minutes ago, said Johnny Storm was conscious. I was on my way to question him. I suppose you want to come along?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

Dr. Kline was dropping off a set of files at the nurses' station when he saw the Richardses sitting on a hallway bench, a nurse wrapping gauze around Sue's hand. The doctor glanced at his watch and quickly walked over to them.

"Mrs. Richards?"

"Dr. Kline!" Sue greeted him warmly. "How's my brother?"

"Conscious and already itching to get out of here. I gave him the full report but he seemed more concerned about your hand. He said you burned it this morning. It looks like Jessica took care of it for you—thank you, Jessica." He didn't wait for her to respond before continuing. "Well, I'm late for a meeting but if you have any questions, feel free to page me. I'll be checking on Johnny in a few hours, after we take a new set of X-rays for his scapula."

He nodded in Sue and Jessica's direction then strode away.

"Now, if you keep the burn clean, it should heal without issue," Jessica instructed as she secured the loose end of the gauze with medical tape. "If it starts feeling warm or becomes extra red and puffy, it might be getting infected so you should have it looked at as soon as possible. If you have any other concerns about it while you're still here, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," Sue said gratefully as Jessica began packing up the burn kit.

"Not a problem," she replied, tucking the kit under the nurse's station again and sitting down at the computer.

Sue did her best to ignore the guilt that was still churning in her stomach and stood. "Let's go check on Johnny," she said to Reed, who followed her down the hallway. They nodded to the long-haired guard positioned outside of Johnny's door and stepped inside. Sue smiled softly when she saw her brother fast asleep, his face free of the tension it'd carried the last time she had seen him.

"It took mom and dad years to get him to sleep that quickly," she quipped.

"He went down pretty easy with the meds in his system. Worried like crazy about you though," Ben put down the magazine and looked pointedly at Sue. "How is your hand?"

"It's fine," Sue responded mechanically. "How long has he been asleep?"

"Ten minutes or so. He conked out just after Dr. Kline left."

Sue glanced up from the monitors she had been observing. "That's good. He needs it." She fell silent for a moment. "Did he say anything else?" Sue asked hesitantly.

"He may or may not have found out that the perps are still on the loose," Ben mumbled, quickly burying his nose in a gossip magazine.

Sue sighed. "He was going to find out eventually. Don't worry about it, Ben."

Ben slowly peered over the top of the gossip magazine, in case Sue was angrier than she sounded, but she just smiled distractedly in his direction, her eyes locked onto her brother's medical file still in the holder at the end of his bed. She quickly grabbed it and began reading Dr. Kline's latest notes while Ben tossed Reed a second gossip magazine.

About twenty minutes later, the long-haired guard poked his head into the room. "Mrs. Richards?"

"Yes?" she replied, her hands curling unconsciously by her side.

"Chief Hicks from the NYPD is here to talk to Johnny..." the guard trailed off, having noticed that Johnny was asleep.

Sue got to her feet and motioned for Ben and Reed to stay with her brother before she walked into the hallway.

"Chief Hicks," she greeted the man she had worked with before. "Agent Jones," she spat with considerably less enthusiasm.

"Hello Mrs. Richards," Chief Hicks replied, shooting his new partner a sidelong glance. "I realize this is a bad time but Dr. Kline called me about half-hour ago and said Johnny was conscious. We need to take his official statement while yesterday's events are still fresh in his mind."

"I'm sorry Chief but he's sleeping. After all he's been through, I'm not comfortable waking—"

"We understand that, Mrs. Richards, but the quicker we figure out the identity and current location of the men, the quicker we can close the book on this entire debacle. We really do need to speak to Johnny," he added when she still looked skeptical.

Sue stared at the two men for a long time. "I'll see if I can wake him," she finally said. "I can't promise anything though."

"We appreciate that, Mrs. Richards," Chief Hicks replied as he and Agent Jones followed her into Johnny's hospital room.

* * *

**Only a few more chapters to go!**

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you for your patience throughout this entire fic! I hope you enjoy the final chapter!**

* * *

_Someone was calling his name._

Johnny did his best to ignore the voice, trying to roll onto his side to get away from the sound, but something hard pressed against his left shoulder, keeping him from moving.

"The police want to talk to you, Johnny."

That was Sue's voice. His eyes shot open and he searched the room anxiously for his sister. "You came back!" he exclaimed when he saw her leaning over his bed.

"Of course, I came back," she replied warmly, brushing his bangs out of his face.

Johnny immediately lifted his head and spied the hand he had accidentally burned. He exhaled in relief when he saw it was bandaged. "I never meant to hurt you, Sue," he blurted out. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes. It's nothing a little aloe won't take care of."

"Thank god," Johnny leaned back into the pile of pillows, visibly relieved his sister hadn't sustained a permanent injury.

Someone cleared their throat and Johnny realized there were two more people in the room.

"Chief Hicks," he acknowledged the man he recognized. Then he turned to the second man, who was wearing a gold shield on his belt. "Dark-haired stranger."

"We're sorry to have woken you, Mr. Storm," the stranger said.

"And you are…"

"Agent Tom Jones, FBI Hostage Rescue Team."

Storm stared at the man appraisingly. "All things considered, I guess you did an okay job," Johnny replied after a moment, shooting the man a quick glare to let him know he wasn't _entirely_ off the hook. "I assume you're here for my official statement."

He tried to sit up but Reed quickly punched a button in the railing and the bed's headrest began to rise into a reclining position. Johnny nodded his thanks and turned back to the officers.

"Yes we are, Mr. Storm," Chief Hicks confirmed while he opened a recording app on his cell phone. Jones leaned against the far wall, apparently content with just listening. "If you could, please identify yourself for the record, then just go through what happened while you were in the bank," the Chief instructed as he began the recording.

It took Johnny about thirty minutes to recount everything from the moment Danny and his crew walked into the bank until he had woken alone in the warehouse. Judging by the twin expressions of disappointment the officers were trying so hard to hide, they had obviously been hoping he had more information about where the men were heading.

"Is there anything else you can recall? Do you remember any of their names? Did you see any tattoos or scars?" Agent Jones finally spoke up.

Johnny shook his head. "They wore the masks and gloves even when we switched cars. The leader was named Danny. His second-in-command was named Rusty. The real skinny one was called Linus. The one with the anger management issues was called Frank…" he trailed off, his brow furrowed in concentration. He watched his hands unconsciously wring then smooth out a section of sheet before looking up and admitting, "I can't remember the name of the last one. He hardly said anything. He mostly stood in the corner and made sure things ran smoothly."

He saw Hicks motion to Jones who pulled a small notepad from his jacket pocket and flipped to a page filled with illegible scribbles.

"The fifth one," the FBI Agent began, scanning the page, "was it 'Raymond', 'Renny', 'Ryan', 'Robert', 'Reuben', 'Russ—'"

"Reuben!" Johnny leaned forward excitedly, making a face as he forgot about his shoulder. "It was Reuben," he repeated, slightly out of breath.

Hicks nodded. "That's what Ms. Applefeld thought too but she wasn't 100% sure."

"Danny, Rusty, Linus, Frank and Reuben…Those names sound really familiar," Ben mused.

"They're characters from the _Ocean's _movies," Jones reported.

"So they're aliases," Johnny stated with a frown. He had been hoping that, after a day, the police were at least a _little_ closer to catching the criminals.

"Unfortunately yes." Hicks clicked off the recording, slid his glasses onto his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I suppose you want an update?"

"Do ya really have to ask?" Ben retorted.

Chief Hicks smiled lopsidedly. "Call it common courtesy. Since this is all new to you, Johnny, we'll give you the 10-cent summary."

He proceeded to tell them how the NYPD forensics unit was examining the rotating security feed at the parking garage for any additional footage of the criminals. CSRU was also taking apart the remains of the van, which was badly burned and wasn't looking like it still held anything valuable.

They were having more luck with the sedan, which was registered to one Kenneth Avery, chief engineer at Danborn Avionics, one of the many businesses surrounding the Donaldson Parking Garage. CSRU had found some hairs and skin cells which were currently being run through CODIS. Avery had been brought in for questioning—a formality since the video footage from Danborn confirmed he worked a full day and hadn't left the building until the LEOs escorted him to the precinct—and for a set of elimination fingerprints and DNA matches.

"It was most likely a crime of opportunity," Hicks concluded and Jones nodded his head in agreement.

A sharp shrilling interrupted his report and the Chief glanced down at the phone clipped his belt. "I have to take this. Jones will keep filling you in."

As he stepped into the hallway, Jones cleared his throat then repeated what Hicks had told him on the drive over: There weren't many cameras in the loading district so the NYPD was canvassing the area, looking for anyone who might have seen the men leave. There was also a FBI dive team dredging the water around the dock. They'd found quite a few articles of clothing and other miscellaneous items that the crime lab was thoroughly examining. Unfortunately, there were still no signs of any weapons.

Jones' team was also going over the bank, especially the vault, the foyer and the manager's office, with a fine-tooth comb. They were distributing lists of the serial numbers on the bills from evidence lock-up and working their local contacts to see if anyone was looking to invest or wash a significant amount of money. They were also working with the witnesses on rough sketches of the men for news broadcasts and having a few of them listen to the recordings Jones had isolated.

Jones was in the process of telling the Four about the anonymous 911 caller from the loading district, one Roy Jamison, who they had identified through the DNA on the jacket he'd wrapped around Johnny's shoulder, when Hicks burst back into the room. He tapped his phone screen and muffled expletives and shouts erupted over the speakerphone.

"Whose voice is that?" Hicks asked gruffly, shoving the phone in Johnny's direction.

"Danny," Johnny said instantly. "That's Danny!" he repeated more confidently after listening for a moment. "You found him?"

"He was tied to a support pole in an abandoned restaurant on the same block as the bank, a few doors down. Two of my team wanted to focus on the perps' original escape route," Hicks offered by way of explanation.

"What are we waiting for?" Ben asked, rising to his feet.

"We'll handle this Mr. Grimm. You stay here with Johnny, just in case. We'll keep you updated," he said hurriedly as he and Jones sprinted out the door.

* * *

"Danny" turned out to be Jordan Montgomery, a middle-class insurance salesman who lived in Harrison. He had no criminal record sans a few parking tickets and was neither wealthy nor poor: he had just enough to comfortably support his bachelor lifestyle. He'd lost his job a year ago but had managed to be rehired a few months back. He had never married and had no dependents, not even a pet.

Montgomery had not voluntarily given up any of this information, choosing to sit silently in the precinct interrogation room and glare daggers into the one-way glass. The NYPD only knew this information from running his fingerprints. They'd also obtained his cell phone and email records and had run profiles on everyone he'd spoken to in the last six months. Most ended up being work contacts, as corroborated by his boss, with few personal correspondences; unfortunately, none of these people fit any of the descriptions of Montgomery's teammates.

Hicks' team let him sit for about an hour, before sending in the department's best, one Katherine Beckett from Homicide. She played on Rusty's betrayal, having seen Montgomery's eyes flash angrily and his hands curl into fists at the mention of his second-in-command's alias, and eventually, he cut a deal for a reduced sentence. In return, he named Harold Mason as "Rusty", Randolph West as "Frank", Larry Bates as "Linus" and Sylvester Knight as "Reuben".

APBs were immediately drawn up and their passports and identification were distributed to all airports, rental car establishments, and train and bus stations. Their faces were splashed over the news and the phone lines in reception were ringing off the hook with informants who thought they had seen one of these men.

While a lot of the tips were blatantly false positives, a few had great promise. In these instances, Chief Hicks allowed one or two of the healthy superheroes to ride along with him, just in case a situation arose that his men couldn't handle. While he didn't foresee that happening, bringing members of the Four along was bolstering the department's public opinion ratings, which was a win in his book.

Five hours later, the first tip panned out. Sylvester Knight had been spotted at the bus depot, trying to buy a one-way ticket with a fake passport. He hadn't fought the TSA agents who had taken him into custody, loudly asserting that he was cooperating to get a lighter sentence. Regardless, he was being charged with armed bank robbery and would be lucky to see less than twenty years.

Around nine o'clock Sunday morning, Larry Bates had also been identified. He had colored his hair and was staying at a childhood friend's house until the heat died down. One of the neighbors had called the tip line after seeing Bates pick up the morning paper at the end of the driveway. He was booked within the hour.

It was only a matter of time, Hicks assured Mayor Watson during a conference call, before the others slipped up as well.

* * *

"Your last set of X-rays and MRIs looked good," Dr. Kline reported late Sunday afternoon, after examining Johnny's shoulder once again. "We see no lasting damage from the bullet deformation or from the fire foam. Barring any craziness tonight, you should be able to go home tomorrow morning."

Johnny raised his left first into the air triumphantly. "Yes!"

Dr. Kline smiled softly. "Just like most of my patients—so happy to get out of here." He sighed overdramatically. "Oh well, comes with the job," he added with a grin as he dropped Johnny's file into the foot of his bed. "Kristina will be in first thing tomorrow morning to help you with the discharge process."

"It's about time," Johnny commented after Dr. Kline had left. He was ready to put all this behind him and he knew the others were too. They had barely left his bedside over the last day, only to eat or follow a lead. Even when they ordered food, they brought it back to his room, slipping Johnny some when the staff wasn't around to supplement the single-colored mush that was provided. Though they did their best to hide it, he could tell Reed, Sue and Ben were worn out. It was obvious they were ready for their lives to return to their skewed definition of normal.

* * *

Later that evening, Chief Hicks stopped by with an update. Randolph West, "Frank", had been spotted trying to sneak across the border into Canada. He'd resisted arrest and taken out three cops before one finally managed to bring him down with a Taser. He was currently being brought back to the precinct but had stated that he would not be speaking to any law enforcement officer until he had consulted a lawyer.

Chief Hicks also reported that Larry Bates had revealed the link between the five men: they had met at a support group a year ago when they all had either lost jobs or houses. Robbing a bank had started out as a joke, but when Knight was no longer able to make ends meet for his family, he'd begun to seriously contemplate it. It wasn't long before the other four men were interested as well. The guns were merely for show, Bates, Knight and Montgomery had all agreed: they never intended for anyone to get hurt.

Before he left, Hicks suggested that the Four might consider holding a press conference after Johnny's release tomorrow, to assure the city that their superhero was really on the mend. Johnny instantly agreed. He was tired of watching reporters badmouth his family on television for not releasing more information; also, the reporters had been calling Reed, Ben and Sue non-stop for the last day, to the point where they had been forced to turn off their phones.

If he made a public statement, they might finally get some peace.

* * *

Ben was dozing in a hard plastic chair when he heard something vibrate. He opened his eyes and saw Sue's phone buzzing on the rolling plastic table next to the second hospital bed Reed and Sue were sharing. He quickly clamped his hand over it, so as not to wake Johnny, Reed or Sue and hurried from the room. He flipped on the hallway light and seeing that was Chief Hicks, figured it was alright for him to answer it.

"Ben Grimm," he reported after thumbing the accept button.

"We got a lead on Harold Mason," the Chief announced. "Very credible. We're on our way to pick up him now. Wanted to know if you want in."

"Definitely," Ben tucked the phone against his ear and uncapped the marker that dangled from the whiteboard outside Johnny's door. He scribbled down the address, then programmed it into his navigation app. Before he left, he texted Sue, telling her where he was in case she woke, then put her phone back on the table.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of a seedy motel, the police nowhere in sight. He waited casually in the back parking lot, suspecting that, if Mason saw the cops arriving, he try to escape out the back. His hunch was spot on. As soon as the dark Crown Vics pulled off the main road, a third-floor window opened on the far corner of the motel and a man climbed onto the fire escape. In the pale street light, Ben was able to positively identify the man as Harold Mason.

"Mason's in back!" Ben shouted at the top of his lungs as he sprinted across the parking lot. He snatched Mason off the ladder and threw him into the motel wall with just a fraction of his overall strength. The man yelped as he smacked into the brick but he didn't stay down for long. He rose to his feet, pulling a gun from his pocket and pointing it at Ben.

"Just let me go and no one gets hurt," Mason promised.

"Can't do that," Ben growled, shifting to make himself as small a target as possible. Reed was pretty sure he was bulletproof, but he didn't feel like testing that theory today.

"Give me the gun, Mason, and I'll tell the police you surrendered willingly."

"Can't do that," the other man mimicked with a snarl.

"Okay then." Ben lurched forward and wrapped one hand around the gun, squeezing until the barrel caved in. Ben jerked his other elbow backwards at half-strength, hitting Mason square in the jaw. The other men's head snapped around and he fell limply to the ground when Ben released him.

He was standing over the unconscious man, red tingeing his vision, when he heard footsteps approaching. He forced himself to calm down, before he did anything he would later regret, and turned to face the oncoming officers.

"He's all yours," he spat, motioning to the prostrate criminal.

"Nice takedown." Chief Hicks strode up to Ben as his men quickly swarmed around Mason, cuffing him then hauling him to his feet. Hicks holstered his weapon and glanced at his watch. "I'd ask for your statement now but I hear Johnny is getting released tomorrow. After the press conference and everything, stop by the station?"

Ben promised he would before returning to the hospital and arranging himself in the reinforced plastic chair for a few more hours rest.

* * *

"You don't have to do this Johnny," Sue repeated for the umpteenth time as she straightened his collar. He had been released from the hospital only half an hour ago, which, in typically city traffic, was barely enough time for them to drive back to the Baxter Building.

"Stop that," Johnny jerked out her gasp before she could smooth down his hair. "You're making me more nervous that I already am!"

There was a huge difference between a celebratory press conference when the Fantastic Four successfully completed an assignment and this one. For starters, Johnny was expected to be serious, given the circumstances, but more importantly, he was unhappy giving the press exactly what they wanted. They knew that if they pressed hard enough, he would eventually have to hold a conference, just so the media hounds would heel. Though it seemed like his life was an open book, Johnny usually only shared very superficial information with the media, mostly to keep the spotlight off the others, who valued their privacy above all else. Now though, he was expected to talk about a very personal experience, one he would much rather just forget about entirely.

"You're going to do fine," Sue handed him a series of notecards. "Roberta wrote these for you, if you want. It doesn't have to be a big speech, but everyone just wants to know you're alright."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He took a deep breath and straightened up. "Let's get this over with."

He walked out of the Baxter Building and was met with hundreds of camera flashes that left residual frames of color in his field of vision. He blinked hard and focused on not tripping over the numerous electrical cables as he walked over to the podium that had been artfully staged so that the F4 logo was just off to his right.

The crowd quieted down as Johnny adjusted the microphone.

"If you don't know who I am, you should really turn on the TV more often," Johnny deadpanned with his trademark grin. He was relieved to hear the crowd laugh and he could feel some of the tension the ominous silence had brought dissipate. "But just in case you don't, I'm Johnny Storm, member of the Fantastic Four.

"On Friday, I was in the State Credit Union when it was held-up by five men. When they realized the vault had closed and that I was in the bank, they decided ask for a ransom. It is because of your kind generosity that most of us are alive," Johnny bit his lip and reached for the cards. He scanned them and, seeing nothing useful, put them back down again. "At one point, I was shot in the shoulder," he tilted his head toward the sling. "The details aren't important but I'm expected to make a full recovery, as is Officer Brandt who was knocked unconscious when the men first entered. Everyone else, to my knowledge, was uninjured. All five men have now been taken into custody, as I'm sure you've seen on the news, so we're all anxious to put this behind us.

"I would like to thank Chief Peter Hicks of the NYPD, Agent Tom Jones of the FBI and their teams for working tirelessly to ensure everyone's safety. I'm sure I speak for all of us who were held in the bank when I say that I am immensely grateful for all their hard work over the last few days." He paused for a moment, deciding if he wanted to say anything else.

A dark-haired reporter in the second row took this opportunity to stand and hold out a recorder. "What do you think about Agent Jones' performance, Johnny? I mean, he wasn't willing to pay the ransom in the first place and you were shot because of it."

Johnny hadn't wanted to take questions for this very reason: the reporters were searching for a reaction from him. He cleared his throat, fixed on his most winning smile and responded, "Honestly, it could have been much worse. I believe Agent Jones did the best he could with the hand he was dealt."

"So you think he could have done better?" the man clarified.

"I don't believe there was another situation that could have turned out as well as this one," Johnny replied evenly. "Eleven people walked out of that bank, most of them unharmed. All of the men have been taken into custody and the money was recovered. I think that's a win in anyone's book."

The surrounding area burst into sound as each of the reporters tried to drown out the rest with their questions and camera flashed at a frenzied rate.

"That's it for today." Johnny raised his voice to be heard over the clamor. "Any further questions you may have can be directed toward Roberta Jenkins, our publicist. Thank you all for coming. I hope you have a fantastic day."

With that, Johnny walked away from the podium and into the Baxter Building, alongside Reed, Ben and Sue. Building security stepped in front of the doors, keeping reporters from following the Four.

"So what now?" Johnny asked as they stepped into the elevator.

The other three exchanged glances before Ben stated, "It's too late to go back to the cabin so I have no other plans."

Johnny cringed. "Your big weekend! I'm so—"

"You better not be about to say, 'I'm sorry'," Ben interrupted. "We already talked to the owner and he said we could exchange for next weekend. Besides, both Alicia and I agreed we'd better come back on the off-chance we could help."

Before Johnny could try to apologize again, Reed cut in. "It's the 4th of July so Sue and I would have had the day off anyway."

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened on the penthouse.

"This place has never looked so great," Johnny said appreciatively as they stepped out of the elevator.

He was heading for his room to hopefully wash away the antiseptic smell that permeated the air around him when Reed spoke up. "I forgot to mention that I've been recording the X Games for the last few days. I know how much you like the Moto X Finals."

Truth be told, Reed was feeling guilty for what his brother-in-law had been through on his account. Even though he'd told Sue not to worry about the "what-ifs", he was having a hard time not seeing the many ways he could have avoided someone being in the bank to deposit his stipend at that very time. He figured recording the very event he'd used as blackmail material was a fairly good beginning for an apology._  
_

Johnny spun around, a wide grin on his face. "You're the best brother-in-law a guy could ever have!" he exclaimed, his desire for a shower quickly forgotten. He headed into the living room, lowered himself onto the couch and queued up the DVR recording.

When he realized he was alone on the couch, he paused the introduction and looked over the seatback, seeing Reed, Sue and Ben walking in the other direction.

"We could watch something else…if you wanted," he suggested. Honestly, he could watch the finals alone another day. Besides, he had kinda ruined all their weekends so he figured he owed them that much.

"No way," Ben said, returning with a bag of popcorn and a box of candy. He handed the popcorn to Johnny, who instinctively raised the temperature in his left hand and began popping the kernels.

"Johnny!" Sue scolded, walking back into the room with a package of licorice. "You're not supposed to be flaming on yet!"

"It's only one hand," he replied, not looking the least bit apologetic. A few seconds later, he tossed the bag back to Ben, who pulled open the top and inhaled deeply. "Perfectly done. Thanks Matchstick."

Sue just rolled her eyes and sat on the couch next to her brother.

"You hate the X Games," Johnny stated, looking over at his sister in confusion. "So do you," he said to Reed, who had just sat down in the reclining chair next to the couch.

"No, I hate when I don't know you're in them until I see it on the news," Sue clarified. She reached over and punched the play button on the remote.

"Really, we can watch something else," Johnny tried one last time, but his attempt was halfhearted as one of his favorite competitors came on screen.

The other three superheroes just grinned and settled in to watch the races.

After a few heats, Johnny looked over to see Sue staring at him, instead of the television.

"I'm fine, Sue, really," he said softly, meeting her gaze.

Sue blinked and quickly looked away. "I'm just glad to have you back."

Johnny reached over and took her hand. "If it makes you feel better, I solemnly swear never to take Reed's stipend to the bank again."

"You know what?" she said, leaning against her brother's uninjured shoulder, a genuine smile crossing her face for the first time that weekend. "For some strange reason, it does."

* * *

**And that's the end of **_**Change of Plans**_**: ****I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it!**

**If you can spare a second, I'd love to know what you thought on your way out!**

**Until next time,**

**usa123 **


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